


Hazel Potter: The Girl Who Lived To Kick Ass

by Sar_Kalu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Badass!Harry, Female Harry Potter, Harry's Forever In Trouble, House Elf Bestie, Intelligent!Harry, IntuitiveMagic!Harry, Legimens!Harry, Metamorph!Harry, Multi, NotGryffindor!Harry, Obliviator!Harry, WandlessMagic!Harry, homeless!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:39:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sar_Kalu/pseuds/Sar_Kalu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Hazel - mind-reader, shape-shifter, will-make-you-forget-your-whole-life-men-in-black-style - Potter, she is not your average pre-teen girl, let alone your average witch. But then, if you can read minds, change your face, and wipe-memories, you're not likely to be an average kind of anything, really. </p><p>For Hazel Potter, being normal is overrated, because she is damned sure that she is going to be the best at absolutely everything she does; or die trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Warner Brothers, and their affiliates. Marvel is the intellectual property of Stan Lee, Marvel Comics, Marvel Studios, and their affiliates. I own neither and am merely playing in their sandbox. 
> 
> Any and all trigger warnings are found at the bottom of each chapter.

 

Number Four, Privet Drive, was silent now. A terrible, sudden silence; of the kind that came only after rapid shouting and horrible screaming. The occupants of Privet Drive had not been exactly blind to the strange occurrences over the past week. Owls at every time of day and night, despite Privet Drive being in the middle of residential Surrey. The husband, Vernon, scurrying around the house like an overgrown, terrified rat on a sinking ship, boarding up the windows and doors as though he feared a foreign military might be invading their quiet little street. The insanity being displayed by an ordinarily solid, dependable man, was a cause for concern among the neighbourhood watch; and so, when the shouting at Number Four Privet Drive ceased, many feared the worst.

 

Standing in the centre of the lounge room, ten-year-old Hazel Potter clenched her fists into tiny balls of absolute fury. It had been an accident; but she was just so angry and confused by everything around her that it had been everything she could do to not throw herself bodily at her Uncle and Aunt and demand answers while hitting them repeatedly with her little fists. Instead, a hot wave of _something_ had rushed through her veins and bubbled like magma in her chest until she was bombarded with _everything_. 

 

Every thought that her Aunt was viciously thinking as she had screamed at her niece had ripped through Hazel’s mind; and the ten year old girl had screamed in agony. It was the kind of wail that abused puppies and tortured kittens made as they were burned alive. Hazel had clapped her hands to her head and cried deep heaving sobs that had shaken her tiny frame. Her Aunt had clapped a hand to her forehead in pain, but not even Petunia was so heartless as to leave her niece in agony while she might be able to do something about it.

 

Unfortunately, it was far too late, the damage had already been done. 

 

Like a wave of ice through her mind, what Hazel now knew to be her magic, the burning fire of her Aunt’s thoughts were assembled and assimilated into categories within Hazel’s mind. Hazel was ten years old and she was a witch. Anguished green eyes lifted to meet the muddy brown of Petunia’s, and Hazel gave out a sobbing groan as she backed away, trying to reconcile her new, terrible knowledge with every single horrible day that she had spent trying to make her aunt love her, to make her uncle see her, to make Dudley like her enough to play with her. It had never been enough.

 

And now she knew why.

 

Hazel Potter was a witch and that would always count against her, even if she should save every person in the world from sure destruction. The Dursley’s would never love her, they would never appreciate her; all because she had magic. Something she had no choice in and was a legacy of her long departed parents.

 

“You knew,” Hazel rasped, her voice hoarse from the scream that had ripped through her throat not minutes before. “You knew, and you never told me!”

 

Betrayal scorched through her veins and tears stung her eyes. She wasn’t enough, she never would be. Something deep within her broke and drifted away. With a distressed wail, Hazel spun on her toes and fled the room, throwing herself into the cupboard under the stairs and burying herself beneath the thin, ratty blankets that, she would pretend on days when she needed the comfort, made up her nest. 

 

Outside the cupboard, Petunia stayed in her confused half-crouch, wondering just where she had gone wrong. Hazel was usually responsive to any and all comfort that Petunia provided her, however reluctant that might be. Dismissing the child as hysterical, Petunia made her way into the kitchen and began to prep for dinner. Leave it to a girl to be ridiculous, Petunia was never so glad that she’d birthed a boy.

 

Inside her safe haven, Hazel was swiftly coming to the realisation that she could not stay in this house. It was toxic and the Dursley’s hated her anyway. Determination thrummed through her and Hazel waited patiently as Petunia cooked dinner and then called the men of the household to dinner. For the first time, Hazel was glad that she was never invited to the table, because it gave her the chance to slip from her cupboard and upstairs to her aunt and uncles room. 

 

Vernon had a very structured way of living. Every morning at six am, he would wake up to a loud blaring alarm and stumble into the bathroom to have a shower. Once showered, Vernon would dress in one of his many bland, grey suits and choose a particularly boring tie to match with his invariably white shirt. Then, like clockwork, Vernon would secure his silver watch around his fat wrist and slip his wallet and keys, which were always stored beside Petunia’s third jewellery box, into his right pocket. 

 

Hazel slipped into her aunt and uncles room, curling her lip at the sight of the tan bedspread that was patterned an ugly, dark brown floral mosaic. Hazel turned from the bed to the vanity-cum-dresser and picked up her uncles wallet and flipped through his various cards until she located his Barclay’s credit card, which had a ten thousand dollar maximum on it. The card was also rarely used outside of purchasing new furniture and the occasional bakery delight by her uncle at work, and the accumulated fees were always paid off each month like clockwork.

 

From there, Hazel made her light-fingered way through her aunts’ many jewellery boxes, taking perverse delight in nicking Petunia’s only string of pearls and her diamond earrings. Satisfied with her thieving, Hazel then crept into Dudley’s room and slipped her small bony feet into a pair of long wooden socks, bright red sneakers, and Dudley’s softest, warmest hoodie.

 

Tugging Dudley’s smallest backpack onto her right shoulder, Hazel made quick work of shimmying out of his back window and down the drainpipe into the backyard. Hazel paused in the gathering darkness, peeping through the window to watch Petunia collect the plates and scrape off the scraps onto another, smaller plate that would have been hers had she stayed. As Hazel watched all this, she wondered how she could ever have missed their disinterest and negligence of her. It was quite the sorrowing sight to reconcile.

 

Now even more determined than before, Hazel set to jogging down the footpath towards the only bus stop in three kilometres. Once, long, long ago, back when she had been eight years old and a lot more hopeful, Hazel had made a weekly trek down to the bus stop to watch people come and go off the huge, shiny, red, double-decker bus that serviced all of Surrey. It had lit a little hopeful fire in her chest to watch the different people disembark, wondering if one mightn't recognise her and declare, “Hazel! Oh my goodness! Look how you’ve grown! I’m your mother/father/uncle/aunt/sister/brother/cousin, and I’ve come to take you away from those horrid Dursley’s!”

 

But no one ever had; and Hazel had lost hope.

 

Pulling the black hood of her new jumper up and over her short, messy, black hair, Hazel adjusted her wire-framed glasses and huddled deeper into the fleeced lining of her hoodie. The bus only ever came on the hour, and would often be anywhere from ten to thirty minutes late the further away from rush hour it got. Hazel sat on that cold metal seat for close to two hours before the sight of the big red bus made its shuddering way around the corner of Willow Close and came to a screeching halt in front of her. 

 

Hazel jumped up and made her shivering way towards the front of the bus and carefully climbed aboard. The bus driver took the five quid it cost for a one way ticket to Stratford, and dismissively waved her towards the back of the bus. Hazel huddled down in between the glass of the buses side and the back of the chair she was perched on, and tried to ignore the loud teenagers behind her that were jeering and heckling each other on their way to the movies. 

 

By the time the bus pulled into Stratford, the last of summers light had long since disappeared and night had truly fallen. Despite not having eaten in twelve hours, Hazel was feeling more energised than she had in years, and she felt a wide smile split her face. 

 

London was very different from everywhere else she had been and there was a kind of magnetic energy that thrummed through the large city and drew her forever onwards through the tangled streets and gloomy, dark parks. By the time Hazel had found a semi-covered place to rest her weary feet, she was a long way away from Stratford and deep within the concert jungle that was London’s east end. Curled up beneath a low-hanging bush, Hazel drifted off to sleep with a small smile on her features. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

In the intervening three weeks since she had fled the Dursley’s, Hazel had come to learn a lot about herself and her situation. The first, most notable of these, was the owl that had been perched upon the branch that she had curled up beneath to sleep that very first night. Upon relieving the bird of the letter, it had swiftly swooped off, leaving Hazel to stare after it in some surprise. The letter itself, Hazel had come to realise, was not particularly informative now, given that she knew everything her Aunt had known of the subject, which wasn’t much, considering how wilfully ignorant Petunia had remained on the subject of witchcraft and wizardry. Still, the notion of shopping for magical goods was particularly exciting to think about. 

 

The second, was that her accidental absorption and innovation of her Aunt’s mind had actually mutated into an active kind of constant sweeping of the minds around her. Hazel had been bombarded by the thoughts of the people around her to the point of constant, near-exhaustion until, quite suddenly, two weeks ago she had accidentally managed to turn the ability off. The next week and a half was then spent trying to rationalise how the ability worked and how she might control it. It was one thing to learn that your aunt knew about magic and how you were a witch, it was quite another to be able to learn whether or not the police around you had any kind of indication that you didn’t have a guardian helping you. 

 

Her new mind reading capabilities had actually saved her skin more than a few times, by ensuring that Hazel hadn’t wandered down the wrong kinds of alleyways or accepted a gift from trust-worthy-seeming adults. 

 

This mind reading gift had led to a second, more practical ability; one that Hazel had known about for years but had always dismissed as being real. She could change her appearance at will. Oh, for sure, she couldn’t change her _age_ ; but if people where looking for a skinny, dark haired girl with light coloured eyes, being able to change into a tall, dark skinned girl with dark eyes made for an excellent cover. Particularly seeing as the east end had a lot of darker skinned families with many, many children that hung about. It was all too easy to blend in with them and be discounted as one of a hoard. 

 

Although Hazel had no understanding of it now, the unconscious racism of anglo-police was all too much to her benefit. Of course, this shape-changing ability was merely an extension of the ability that had made her hair grow back overnight when she was in primary school after her aunt had shaved if off because she’d had the audacity to contract nits. It was from that incident onwards that had led Petunia to keep Hazel’s hair into an easily controlled bob, never mind that Hazel had wanted long black hair that ran in a long sheet down her back to her bum like all the other girls at her school. But then, Hazel’s wants and desires had mattered very little in the Dursley household. 

 

The consolidation of both gifts into the massive sub-heading of magic meant that Hazel was quickly coming to the realisation that maybe, she really should look into this whole “Hogwarts” thing that the letter had spoken about. It was to this affect that led Hazel to navigating the Tube to Oxford Circus; because, as anyone could tell you, all the best shopping could be found in Oxford Circus and Piccadilly Parade. It would not surprise Hazel to learn that wizards had capitalised on the sheer volume of people to disguise a meeting hub for magical folk. 

 

Sure enough it took Hazel a bare hour to locate the imaginatively named “Leaky Cauldron” that was squeezed between a small computer services shop, that displayed the latest ads for StarkTech and Apple computers, and a greasy fast food joint that sold Southern American style Fried Chicken. The smell was nauseating. 

 

Hazel pushed the door open and barely drew any eyes as she slipped towards the back of the pub, her carefully disguised eyes gleaming with sharp intelligence. She knew nothing about this new society and wanted to learn about them before revealing her presence. For all she knew, they were in cahoots with Child Services and would be quick to return her to the Dursley’s. No, far better to fly under the radar for now. 

 

Hazel watched as a nearby fireplace flared a brilliant green and a tall, thin man stepped out and, nodding to the proprietor, made his way through a door that led to a small courtyard and began tapping a long, thin stick in a  random manner upon the bricks that made up the rear wall. Hazel was quite unable to help her mouth dropping open in shock as the wall gave a shimmy and then wiggled its way into an archway that revealed a bustling hub of shops and stores beyond it. 

 

Hazel pushed the door that led into the courtyard, more open, and was quick to leap through the slowly closing archway. Stunned, Hazel wandered through the alley with a gaping mouth and wide eyes. This was unlike anything she had ever seen. As wonder dissipated into sheer ecstatic glee, Hazel began to take notice of the things around her. 

 

There was a shop called ‘Slugs and Jiggers’ that sold potions ingredients and equipment; the shop beside that was a place that sold writing and astronomy equipment alongside reams of parchment and colour changing ink. Then, further along, there was a place called ‘Eyelops’ Owl Emporium’, which was dark and gloomy inside and filled with soft cooing hoots of many different kinds of owls. Opposite the Emporium was ‘The Magical Menagerie’, and Hazel was enchanted by the sight of tumbling kittens, skipping rats, and bejewelled tortoises that lined the shelves. As she crept in deeper to the confines of the bookstore, Hazel came across a tiny puppy lying beneath a heated lamp with sad brown eyes and the curliest patchwork fur that she had ever seen.

 

“Hogwarts’ student?” A sharp voice inquired from behind her and Hazel was unable to prevent that flinch that preceded her rapid turn-around and the wide surprised eyes as she came face to face with the witchiest person she had ever seen. The woman was tall and dressed in black robes that were belted at her waist by a soft white cord, her feet were slippered in soft leather, and her hair tumbled down her back in a waterfall of dark brown curls. 

 

Hazel, forgetting herself momentarily, took a step back in fear before regaining her nerve and lifting her chin defiantly. “Yes, ma’am,” she said with all the calm she could manage. “First year.”

 

The shopkeeper’s brows rose in a manner that suggested that she was impressed by the first years nerve, she was an intimidating woman and she capitalised on that wholeheartedly. “You won’t be allowed to take a crup to school, no matter how much you beg and plead,” the shopkeeper informed the girl in front of her shortly. “Particularly not that one.”

 

“I wasn’t exactly in the market,” Hazel commented, more irritated with the shopkeepers presumption than anything else. Hazel might well be curious about the dog, but not enough to draw attention to herself. “I’d better go,” she said as she edged away from the overbearing woman and the sad, sad puppy in the cage, “my parent’s…”

 

“Will be wondering where you are,” the shopkeeper finished for her, watching as Hazel slipped from the shop and disappeared into the crowd like a ghost. Narrowing her eyes, the woman tapped her fingers on her hip in thought before turning to the crup puppy and deftly unlatching the cage. There was something about the girl that suggested that she might need the dog somewhere down the line; and Rowena was hardly a woman who ignored her gut instinct when it prompted her to do something.

 

Well beyond the Magical Menagerie, Hazel found herself on the marble steps of a great white building that looked very much like a high class bank of some sort. Barring the odd creatures that manned the front doors and held halberds and wore some kind of leather armour, it was as though she had wandered into the Bank of England on Threadneedle street. 

 

The floors were a mosaic of green, red, and white marble and inlaid with what appeared to be gold, or some other precious looking metal. Tall desks of dark oak wood soared high above the heads of the human customers and small creatures with clever dark eyes and sharp smiles greeted each human carefully and respectfully as they approached a desk. 

 

Despite the low hum of human voices and the higher pitched register of the small beings that obviously ran the bank, there was an odd kind of tension to the room. As though, with the wrong noise or word, the small armour plated beings that guarded each doorway might converge on the unlucky human and drag them away to their deaths. 

 

It was to this rising pressure that Hazel approached an empty desk and hesitantly greeted the being that sat behind it with a soft uncertain voice, “ah, hello, sir.”

 

The creature lifted its head and stared straight above her head, given that Hazel barely reached the edge of the very tall desk. “Yes?” The creature demanded in a high, waspish voice that said louder than any words that this was not a being to be crossed. 

 

“Uh, down here, sir,” Hazel said as she arched up onto her toes and peered upwards at the being. “Sorry, I’m not very tall.”

 

The creature leaned forwards and with a glimmer of humour in its ink black eyes, observed, “no, you are not very tall at all, are you?”

 

“No, sir,” she admitted to him, pressing one small hand to the lip of the desk so as to not topple over and the other into her pocket and removing her uncles credit card. Hazel desperately hoped that the bank statements had yet to be delivered to Privet Drive or she would not have any access to any form of money; which would make getting to Hogwarts awfully difficult. 

 

The being stared at the piece of plastic that Hazel held out to it hesitantly with vague disinterest. “What do you propose that I do with this?” 

 

“It’s a bank card, sir, it holds information on the magnetic strip on the side that allows people to access their money remotely,” Hazel parroted her uncles explanation that Vernon had given Dudley on one of the few shopping trips that Vernon had taken them both on. It had been that particular shopping trip that Hazel had memorised the four digit pin code that allowed Vernon to pay for his and Dudley’s lunch at the zoo. 

 

The being curled its lip in disgust. “Goblins,” it announced to Hazel with all the authority of one being exceptionally proud in their race, “do not use bank cards to access money, human. Here at Gringott’s bank, we accept muggle pound notes only or wizarding galleons.” 

 

Hazel stared at the newly identified goblin in surprise, “oh, I didn’t know that,” she admitted, “I’m only eleven.”

 

Here the goblins eyebrows rose in pointed disbelief, “and if you are only eleven, human child, then where are your parents?”

 

Hazel’s brow crinkled in confusion, “I don’t have any parents,” she told him seriously as she felt the familiar pang deep within her chest at the admission. “They’re both dead.”

 

The goblin sighed in exasperation as though he were Atlas and the burden of talking to one small girl was all the weight of the world upon his shoulders. “You cannot withdraw money if you do not have a guardian, human child,” the goblin told her severely, as though she already should know this and her standing before him was merely an inconvenience to be borne with patience. “All access to accounts by those under seventeen must be sanctioned by a legal representative or legal guardian, as must all monetary exchange be handled by a legal representative or legal guardian. Gringotts Bank does not hold responsibility for any and all unaccompanied minors and any and all damages experienced within Gringotts Bank is not the fault of Gringotts staff or shareholders.” This was stated with firm assurance by the goblin as if he had memorised it entirely by rote and was now repeating it, song and verse, merely for her own benefit.

 

Hazel nodded uncertainly, “I understand,” she agreed, even though she assuredly didn't because none of what the goblin had said had made any kind of sense; but Hazel didn’t want to cause trouble at all, “except,” and here she paused again, “I don’t _have_ any guardians, sir.”

 

The goblin blinked once more at her, clearly at a loss for words. “No one?” He asked her in confusion.

 

“None, sir,” Hazel freely admitted.

 

“But you said you were just eleven,” the goblin pointed out, “you must live with someone who takes care of you.”

 

“No, sir,” Hazel disputed, shaking her head, because this she _did_ understand and clearly the goblin was the one having trouble understanding now. “I don’t live in a house,” she told him, “I live under a bridge in Mile End now; but I might move closer to the city because its a bit difficult to catch public transport that far out.”

 

The goblin stared at her in shock, finally taking note of the ragged jeans she was wearing and the mud coated joggers on her feet. To say nothing of her dirt spattered hoody and messy hair was to deny that you had even looked at her. Hazel looked a fright, and she knew it. She also didn’t think goblins, being not-humans and very obviously magical, would rat her out to non-magical authorities. 

 

“I see,” said the goblin finally, “wait here, please.”

 

Hazel tried to watch as the goblin jumped down from his tall, leather chair and disappeared into the stacks behind his desk, but she was far too short to see much of anything at all. Hazel turned around and set her backpack down at her feet and promptly settled onto the clean marble floor at the base of the goblins desk. She sat there for close to an hour as she waited, and Hazel smiled as she watched the ebb and flow of magical humanity in and out of the bank. 

 

The absorption of her aunts thoughts and general mindset had warped Hazel’s thinking to the point where she was akin to that of a much older teenager. Not that Hazel recognised this, because she was still easily distracted by dogs and butterflies and spent however much of her time as she could playing in the parks around the East End and dancing in the summer rain. It wasn’t until the goblin returned, this time accompanied by a tall man with a balding head and a round pot-belly that strained the shiny buttons of his green waist coat, that Hazel recognised that she might have made something of a mistake in confiding with the goblin.

 

“Hello, miss,” the man greeted her with a soft, cat-like smile, “my name is Joseph Robards, I’m here to help you with your housing issue.”

 

Hazel looked at the goblin for direction, except that the clever little creature was more interested in settling himself back behind his desk and returning to his business of counting huge gold coins. Hazel looked back at Joseph Robards and licked her lips uncertainly, “hello, sir,” she greeted him finally.

 

“Why don’t you come with me, I have an office nearby, and we can sit and have a little chat, yes?” Joseph Robards said as he held out a large, long-fingered hand that had no calluses at all on the soft, white skin. 

 

Hazel gulped dramatically before she bravely took Joseph Robards hand and allowed herself to be led from the main floor of the bank and down a series of corridors of panelled wood to where Joseph Robards’ office was kept behind a heavy wood door with a shiny gold plaque etched with his name in flowing script on the front.

 

“Now then,” Joseph Robards said as he settled himself behind his desk after having ensconced Hazel within a large leather chair opposite him. “What would you name be then?”

 

Hazel’s brows quirked and she tilted her head to the side as she regarded him. “Hazel Potter, sir,” she told him, “I’m eleven in July.”

 

Joseph Robards, who had been in the middle of annotating a series of forms with the date and his name, spluttered in shock and then stared at Hazel in disbelief, his eyes flicking upwards to her forehead where a jagged lightning bolt scar sat just above her right eyebrow. “Goodness me,” Joseph Robards breathed in stunned amazement, “you are too!”

 

Hazel watched as Joseph Robards haphazardly staggered upright and rounded his desk over to the fireplace before tossing a handful of powder into the cheerfully crackling fire and sticking his head deep into its depths. Hazel, who had never seen this kind of behaviour before, screamed in shock and horror and fled the room in terror. It wasn't long before she was quickly lost in the maze of corridors that spiralled through Gringotts Bank behind and above the main floor, and it was really very lucky that Hazel ran into yet another tall man working on the same floor as Joseph Robards.

 

Stunned by her behaviour but sympathetic to her apparent plight, the man dropped to his knees and caught Hazel by her shoulders. “Hey, hey, hey,” the man soothed gently, “whatever is the matter?”

 

“That-“ Hazel gulped for air around her stammered words, her eyes still will with shock and horror, “that man just stuck his head in the fire!”

 

The wizard bit back a chuckle at her horrified words but managed to speak in a soothing manner despite his hilarity at her expression. “You a muggleborn?” He asked her, despite not really needing to know the answer. “That’s okay, you’ll get used to floo, port-keys, and apparation eventually,” he told Hazel as he began to guide her back the way she came. “What was this gentleman’s name?”

 

“Joseph Robards,” Hazel said faintly, and before she knew it, she was back in the original corridor where Joseph Robards office was situated. 

 

“Hey, Joe,” the man guiding Hazel greeted his colleague easily, and a very flustered Joseph Robards let out an exclamation of relief at the sight of Hazel, safe and sound, back in his office. “I found a stray, apparently she belongs to you?”

 

Joseph Robards fell to his knees in front of Hazel and grabbed her upper arms in order to make sure she was all okay. “Hazel, you gave me quite a scare, running off like that!”

 

“She’s muggleborn, Joe,” the other man said with a faint grin, “it’s not like you to forget to explain the in’s and out’s of magic to them.”

 

Joseph Robards thinned his lips at his colleague impatiently. “Yes, thank you, Michael,” he said calmly, “be sure to shut the door on your way out. I have Madam Bones on her way over and I really do not think you need to be present.”

 

Michael’s brow rose in clear surprise, “Madam Bones, Joseph? Shouldn’t you be contacting Child Services?”

 

“Special case, Michael,” Joseph stated assuredly as he guided Hazel back to the seat she’d been sat in before. 

 

Michael’s lips thinned disapprovingly, “they’re all special cases,” he muttered as he left the room. 

 

Joseph did not get a chance to explain anything to Hazel before the fireplace flared green once more and a tall, square jawed, no-nonsense woman stepped out of the grate and met Hazel’s green eyes squarely with her own cold blue.

 

“Hazel Potter,” she greeted the girl, “I was _not_ expecting you.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

There were many things in life that Hazel Potter wished she could say were expected. When she was younger, Hazel liked to expect that one day she would do something so fantastically fabulous as to gain the love and attention of her aunt and uncle. When she had turned seven, the first birthday she actively remembered having, Hazel had expected to be given at least as many gifts as Dudley had. When she attended school the first time, Hazel had expected to make at least one friend and to do exceptionally well in all her classes. When she found out she was a witch, Hazel expected to never have to deal with the Dursley’s cruelty ever again and to be able to do whatever she wished; because she was a witch and witches have magic and you cannot force magical people to do what they do not want to do. 

 

Now Hazel knew better to expect much of anything at all. 

 

But expectations have a habit of reoccurring, despite attempts to cultivate the otherwise; and Hazel had certain expectations surrounding her revelations to Joseph Robards and the goblin. That her revelations had resulted in a meeting with this square jawed witch in bottle green robes, led to certain expectations; such as the fact that the woman was clearly someone important and that either meant that Hazel was going to be taken back to the Dursley’s, or, alternatively, the witch in bottle green was going to ensure that Hazel never had to return to the Dursley’s ever again.

 

That said, Hazel had to admit to being considerably confused by the square jawed witch’s severe greeting. “Who were you expecting, then?” Hazel asked, feeling as though this was a reasonable question to ask, given the circumstances.

 

The witch’s eyebrows lifted in surprised amusement and her lips curled at the edges in a faint smile. “Someone that definitely wasn’t you,” was all the witch said in reply. “My name, Miss Potter, is Madam Amelia Bones and I am the Director of Magical Law Enforcement here in Great Britain.”

 

Hazel, for all her advanced thought processes, was still only eleven years old and, while she recognised that even magical people had law enforcement, was definitely confused as to Madam Bones’ presence. “Law Enforcement?” She wondered, “that’s like a policeman, right?”

 

“Very good, Miss Potter,” Madam Bones praised her, “you are essentially correct. I control both the specialised Auror and Hit Wizard devisions of the Ministry, along with the more casual Magical Police force, which is more akin to muggle police and deals with day to day crime.”

 

Hazel was still confused, “I haven't done anything wrong, Madam Bones, I swear!”

 

Madam Bones was quick to hold up a hand, “I know you haven’t, Miss Potter, that is not why I am here.”

 

Joseph Robards was quick to step forwards, a genial smile on his face as he met Hazel’s confused gaze. “I brought Madam Bones here, Hazel, because you came into Gringotts bank without an adult escort. Here in the magical world, we take the safety of minors very seriously.”

 

Madam Bones nodded slowly, “indeed,” she agreed, “which begs the question, where are your guardians, Miss Potter?”

 

Hazel’s eyes widened and she bit her lip, “I don’t have any, Madam Bones, I ran away from their house ages ago. They lied to me and I hate it there.”

 

Madam Bones’ face clouded over and she straightened her posture until she seemed to dominate the office space like a giant dominated the sky above a tiny hamlet town. “You were hurt?”

 

Hazel shrugged, as if it didn’t really matter, “not really,” she mumbled, not entirely sure that being yelled at and made to feel worthless counted as hurt. It wasn’t as though she was Tommy Jones, who’s daddy broke his arm when he threw him down the stairs from his bedroom into the kitchen. 

 

Madam Bones’ wasn’t convinced. “Hurt doesn’t always mean physical, Miss Potter. Were you yelled at?”

 

“I guess,” Hazel admitted as she ducked her face down and tucked her chin against her chest, trying to hide the burning of her eyes and the tears that gathered at the corners. 

 

“You guess?” Joseph Robards asked gently, his voice like thick molasses oozing over a spoon. “Yes or no, Hazel,” he prompted.

 

Hazel shuddered in her seat and pressed a hand to her belly, trying to stop the acid of her uncertainty from spilling up and out of her mouth. “Yes,” she whispered.

 

Joseph Robards exchanged a long look with Madam Bones, both magicals knowing that despite the clear evidence that suggested that Hazel Potter was being abused; she was unfortunately one of the few children that they would be unable to help within the bounds of magical law enforcement. That meant getting the muggle authorities involved and hopefully bringing up the Dursley family on child abuse charges within the legal system. Otherwise, there wasn’t much they could do.

 

Unknown to either Joseph Robards and Madam Bones, Hazel had looked up at them as the silence in the wake of her admission stretched onwards and, upon noticing their long silent exchange, had drawn deeply on her internal magic in a desperate attempt to understand what was going on. It was like everything that had happened with Petunia Dursley, only multiplied by one hundred. Ice and fire ripped through Hazel’s mind and the preteen girl screamed so loudly that her vocal chords clogged and all that was emitted was a strangled choking yelp that quickly subsided into a low, drawn out moan. 

 

Both Madam Bones and Joseph Robards clapped hands to their foreheads in pain, and twin groans escaped them as Hazel began to panic, something deep within her gut telling her that the two adults in front of her were _not_ Petunia Dursley, and that they would not only know what she had done, but be very, very angry with her for daring to invade their privacy like that. 

 

In a blinding flash of brilliant white light that bleached all the colour from their retinas for a long moment, Madam Bones left the room through the fireplace floo, while blinking rapidly to restore her vision and wondering what it was she was doing in Gringotts bank when she was supposed to be filling out performance reviews for Auror Team Echo. Meanwhile, Joseph Robards had no memory of a small dark haired girl with green eyes, and was instead setting up an orphan account for Stacey Lake, a pretty blonde haired, blue eyed muggleborn girl who had wandered into Gringotts bank with a nervous looking muggle social worker as her guardian. 

 

Two hours later, Hazel Potter was standing on the top steps of Gringotts bank once more, wondering what she had done to Madam Bones and Joseph Robards to make them forget her like that. More than that, Hazel was beginning to wonder just who she was and why people reacted her name the way they did. 

 

It would not be long before she figured it all out, and when she did, Hazel Potter would be left to wonder why the magical world thought that a baby could defeat someone who was regarded to be the darkest magical person in recorded history. It was, to her mind, entirely ridiculous.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

September first arrived on the wings of a bitterly cold north wind that crept beneath her ragged blanket and ran its icy fingers up her legs and down her spine. Hazel awoke with a jolt in the predawn air and huddled down deeper into her blankets, wondering what the following months would bring. The ground was hard and rough beneath her hands as she pushed herself up and began to roll her belongings up and stuff them into the bottomless rucksack that she had bought from the Magical Travel shop in Diagon Alley, despite the fact that the owner had tried to sell her a ridiculously heavy wooden trunk with brass clasps for her school belongings. Hazel had barely been able to lift the trunk when it was empty, let alone when it was full. 

 

By the time the birds were winging their way between the trees and squabbling like children over sweets, Hazel was making tracks through the park where she had spent the night and was on her way to King’s Cross Station in the centre of London. Ordinarily, the journey would only take her a bare thirty minutes on the Tube, but that was before she was almost caught by plainclothes police yesterday, who had been patrolling the station and had chased her onto the train for jumping the ticket lines. If it hadn’t been for her shifting abilities, Hazel would probably be under the care of social services by now and not on her way to Hogwarts.

 

Kings Cross was already bustling by the time she arrived and Hazel was well thankful for the acquisition of bits and pieces of memory from the various people she had been practicing her mind reading ability on. Although, the ‘mistake’ of travelling to South Kensington and burrowing into the minds of various men in suits had led to more than a healthy dose of paranoia and the knowledge of how to sneak around unseen and to ability to blend into a crowd. Apparently more than a few of those government types were disturbingly well versed in ‘information gathering’.

 

It was these newly acquired skills that led to Hazel quickly picking out the various uncomfortable people dressed in a mishmash of suits, jeans, and cocktail dresses that all then disappeared in-between the third and fourth columns on platforms nine and ten. Hazel casually slipped through a crowd of Japanese tourists, and pressed her hand against the cool stone wall and watched in amusement as her hand sank right through the brickwork until her arm was most of the way through the seemingly solid wall. 

 

“Nifty,” Hazel commented to herself, not for the first time regretting mind reading the American lady that had been so charmed by her appearance as to offer her an ice-cream cone. Hazel hadn’t taken the woman up on the offer, particularly not when she realised that the woman was more than a little shifty looking, something her mind confirmed when Hazel had read it. Apparently Hazel had reminded the woman of her dead daughter to the point where fantasy and reality had blended into one person and she had wanted to keep Hazel for herself. 

 

Hazel stepped through the false wall and, once again, into another world. The platform was filled with a cacophony of noise - screaming children gleefully running around, chiding parents reminding their offspring to be careful, hooting owls, screeching cats, and the low, muted croaking of toads. Hazel shook her head faintly as she slipped through the crowd, nearly bumping into a brown haired boy holding a large box with air holes in it and his grandmother, a tall woman with a stuffed vulture on her hat. Hazel was quick to board the train, it wasn’t as though she had anyone to say goodbye to, and ducked down into her seat and pulled her rucksack off her back and settled it on the seat beside her. Hazel then pulled the hood of her jumper up and over her face and settled in to nap for the duration of the trip to wherever Hogwarts was located. 

 

In between lucid moments not overtaken by dreams of food and a warm, comfortable place to sleep, Hazel overheard the door to her compartment open and close several times alongside the loud chatter of children outside. By the time the train was slowing its momentum and pulling up at a tiny train station, Hazel was dressed in black robes and a new pair of bright blue sneakers after having visited the girls bathroom and cleaning herself up for the first time in a month. It was a good feeling, Hazel decided, as she burrowed into her thick wooden cloak and played with the edges of her plain black tie. 

 

Her stomach rumbled loudly as she disembarked the train and followed the shouts of “firs’ years over here”, which led her beneath the shadow of a giant man with beetle black eyes and a wild black beard that covered much of his face. Had she not become a good judge of character in her eleven years of life, Hazel might be much like her peers and maintaining a careful distance from the man, but she could tell from his beaming grin that the giant man was no threat and was probably more likely to hug you than throttle you. The path the giant man led them down was steep and slippery with rainwater, and more than a few new students stumbled and nearly fell down the steep embankment to left of them that led down to a large inky black lake. Hazel took a chance and peered over the edge, but couldn’t see much of anything down there at all and wondered if the school was underwater, because she certainly could think of any reason to go swimming at a time like this.

 

Eventually they rounded a corner and Hazel was not alone in gasping in shock and awe at the sight laid out before them. An enormous castle with turrets and spires rose above the lake before them. It was lit up with a thousand yellow lights in its windows and it looked so blatantly magical that Hazel was hard pressed to deny herself a brilliant and happy grin at the sight.

 

The giant man guided the first years down the last of the crooked path and onto a wooden dock where a fleet of tiny boats awaited them. Hazel climbed into the prow of one and returned her awed gaze to the sight of Hogwarts in the distance. It wasn’t until they slipped beneath an overhanging cliff edge that she lost sight of the castle and was distracted from her gaping. 

 

The boats nosed up onto the shore of a white gravelled beach and the sound of crunching stones beneath dozens of boots was deafening; but silence resumed as the giant man lifted one enormous hand and knocked thrice upon a small wooden door set into the side of the cavern. With a squealing creak, the door swung open and a tall woman with square glasses and an emerald green cloak greeted them with a faint smile. 

 

 “The firs’ years, Professor,” the giant man said with a broad smile and a bow of his massive head.

 

The Professor met his gaze cooly, “thank you, Hagrid,” she said, “I will take them from here.” With that, the Professor spun on her heel and swept inside, and the first years were hard pressed to keep up to her long strides as she led them through a maze of tunnels and corridors until they were pooled into a tiny room with no remarkable features except two carved wooden doors. 

 

“My name,” the Professor told them, “is Professor McGonagall. I am the deputy headmistress here at Hogwarts and the head of Gryffindor house. There are four houses at Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall continued on, not allowing for any questions to be raised, “Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. While you are here, your house will be like your family,” her voice cracked above their heads in warning, “your triumphs will earn your house points, any rule breaking will lose them. The accumulation of house points will earn your house the House Cup at the end of the school year in June.”

 

There was a pause, as if Professor McGonagall was waiting for some foolish person to speak up, and Hazel risked a quick look around her, but no one looked like they were anymore confident than she felt. Which, she reflected, was comforting, in a way. 

 

“Before you are sorted into your houses, I might suggest that you straighten yourselves up,” Professor McGonagall finally stated, “wait here.”

 

The moment Professor McGonagall exited the room, excited chatter broke out as the students began to speculate on what the sorting might involve. Hazel listened attentively to the discussion, right up until an excitable red-headed boy announced that his brothers had told him that you had to fight a troll. Which was patently ridiculous. Hazel resolved to ignore the boys who had been listing the more and more ridiculous ideas and was, therefore, one of the first to see the arrival of nearly fifty pearly white ghosts float through the far wall.

 

Hazel’s mouth dropped open as a jolly looking monk announced, “forgive and forget, that’s what I always say,” as they came in and then floated to a standstill at the sight of the first years below him. “Ah! New students! Welcome, welcome,” the monk greeted them in delight, sheer joy radiating from his face like sunshine, “I hope to see you all in my old house, Hufflepuff, don’t you know!”

 

Hazel couldn’t help the delighted grin as she watched the procession of ghosts float through the door that Professor McGonagall had exited through before a feeling like iced water being dumped over her had Hazel spinning around in shock. A tall, stately ghost had come to a stop beside her and was examining her closely.

 

“That is quite a unique gift you have there, my dear,” the ghost said in a sombre tone and Hazel couldn’t help staring at her in shock. The ghost was dressed in a long flowing gown that brushed the tips of her slippered feet and was drawn in tight beneath her bust. Long hair floated around her shoulders and the ghost’s eyes were wide and expressive. “But, you should resume your base form before you are sorted, particularly considering who you are.”

 

Hazel’s eyes widened in shock at the ghost and she had a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue and, really, she meant to ask what the ghost meant, but instead, said, “sorry, but who are you?”

 

The ghost smiled faintly, “Helena Ravenclaw,” she said with a faint tilt of her head towards Hazel in an unmistakable bow. “I hope to see you in my mothers house, Miss Potter, I feel that you would do exceptionally well there.”

 

Hazel watched in awe as Helena Ravenclaw soared up and out of the room, leaving the crowd of first years to huddle in uncertainty as nerves slowly began to overtake them.

 

“Why did that ghost talk to you?” A loud voice asked and Hazel turned around to see a bushy brown haired girl push her way through to her. “And what did she say?”

 

Hazel blinked, “she spoke with me because she could,” Hazel shrugged, “and she didn’t say much at all, really.”

 

The girl sniffed, “I don’t believe you,” she announced as she tilted her chin up.

 

Hazel’s brow crinkled, “you don’t have to believe something for it to be true,” she told the girl firmly, “and I don’t like the way your speaking to me.” 

 

The girl huffed and turned away from Hazel, clearly frustrated at not being told what she wanted to know; but Hazel didn’t feel like telling her that the ghost had known she was able to change her face. Somehow, Hazel got the feeling from their brief conversation, that it wasn’t a very common gift.

 

Professor McGonagall returned just as their nerves were reaching breaking point and with a pointed, “we are ready for you now,” led them through an enormous hallway and through a double set of heavy wood doors and down the length of four parallel trestle-style tables where well over a thousand curious faces watched them. In between steps, Hazel had allowed her magic to melt away from her skin and leave her with the green eyed, dark haired form that she knew to be her real body. The mask she had been wearing before had been very similar, but now the lightning bolt scar was prominent on her forehead for everyone to see; and see it they did.

 

The sorting turned out to be a weathered old hat and Hazel wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or disappointed that it wasn’t something more magical. At any rate, by the time Professor McGonagall read out the bushy haired girl’s name, Hazel was torn between fleeing the building and declaring it all a terrible mistake, or wanting everything to hurry up, already.

 

One thing was for certain, Hazel thought as she watched the bushy haired girl, Hermione Granger, get sorted into the red and gold lion house, Gryffindor, she definitely didn’t want to share a room with her. Equally, when a blonde haired boy slammed his shoulder into hers, Hazel determined she didn’t want to be in Slytherin either, because Draco Malfoy seemed like an ass.

 

By the time it _was_ her turn, Hazel had already bitten her lips bloody on the inside from her nerves, not that she let it show, because she was Hazel frickin’ Potter, who had already run away from home and didn’t need anyone else help, okay?

 

The stool was warm and hard under her bottom, and Hazel curved her tony fingers over the lip of the seat and desperately tried to ignore the stunned whispers that followed her and curious faces that tried to stare at her. Then, darkness swallowed her as the hat fell over her eyes and a tiny voice whispered into her ear.

 

“ _Hmm… difficult, very difficult,”_ the hat told her in a deep, rumbling voice, “ _not a bad mind, and courage, plenty of courage, and a thirst, to prove yourself… but where to put you?”_

 

Hazel bit her lip even harder and shied away from both the red and green houses, already hating two people in both and wanting somewhere safe. “Not Gryffindor or Slytherin, please, not Gryffindor or Slytherin!”

 

“ _Not Gryffindor_ ** _or_** _Slytherin?”_ The hat gave the impression that if it had a face, it would be grinning slyly, _“you could be great you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on your way to greatness, there’s no doubt about that!_

 

_“And Gryffindor would give you plenty of opportunity for adventure that you’ve always dreamed of, after all, bravery and daring set Gryffindor’s apart…_

 

_“No? Well… If you’re sure… Better be…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of it for now, you'll all have to wait until the next four chapters have been written and edited. I would love to hear everyone's feedback, and for those wondering, yes, I am the same Sar Kalu who was published on Fanfiction.net, I have moved 'homes' as it were, because people were being ridiculous; but I'm back, and with new stories. Eventually I'll repost everything here, but that may take time in between university and work. 
> 
> Anyone who is interested in beta-ing my work, drop me a line and I'll see what we can hash out. 
> 
> Many thanks and kind regards,  
> Sar Kalu


	5. Chapter 5

 

**“RAVENCLAW!”**

 

The noise, as the hat was whipped from her head, was deafening. The house coloured in blue and bronze were on their feet shouting in delight, while Gryffindor was registering their disappointment and disapproval by booing and jeering loudly. Stunned by the reception of her sorting, Hazel staggered to her feet and scurried over to her new house table, trying to avoid all the back-slapping and hand-shaking that had seemed to overcome the normally reserved Ravenclaw house.

 

Hazel was quick to take a seat and she desperately tried to ignore the overwhelming attention of her new peers and classmates, but it was very hard to do as more and more people came over to talk to her as the sorting finished and dinner proceeded. It was a feeling that would mark the rest of September for Hazel, and it would very nearly drive her insane with anger and frustration. 

 

Ravenclaw house, Hazel was quick to learn, had a certain reputation for bookishness; this was a reputation that Hazel was now tainted with by association, not that she minded, but Hazel was very much aware that she was not, by nature or nurture, a bookish sort of person. That is not to say she wasn’t clever, and beneath the tutelage of her peers, teachers, and prefects, Hazel was quickly coming into her own as a powerful and knowledgeable witch. 

 

According to the Hogwarts gossip chain, only one person was better at magic than she was, although she had a close contender for second place in the form of Draco Malfoy, in Slytherin. Hermione Granger, resident Gryffindor know-it-all, was by far the cleverest person in their year group, but unlike Hazel, was entirely more concerned with the way people viewed her. But then, Hermione hadn’t spent the last two months of her life learning how to beg, cheat, and steal on London’s streets. It was surprising how degrading it was to beg for your next meal and to realise that if you wanted something, you were going to have to do something illegal to get it. Even if that something was food. 

 

By the time October rolled around, Hazel was bound and determined not to allow some silver-teaspoon, know-it-all, swot to overtake her when it came to magic. Mostly because magic was something that came as naturally as breathing to her: after all, couldn’t she change her face? Couldn't she make people forget she was ever there? Couldn’t she read minds and learn what that person was think at that very moment? 

 

There was no way that Hermione Granger of Gryffindor was going to outstrip Hazel Potter of Ravenclaw; and don’t even get her started on Draco Malfoy of Slytherin, the boy was a menace.

 

Thus, Hazel gave up any and all pretence of  friendship within her house and set about to learning the first year curriculum with a voraciousness that surprised even her. If she wasn’t reading about spell theory and learning about the magical world around her, then she was holed up in a spare classroom and practicing the various wand movements of the spells they were being taught. In the two months she had discovered her magic, Hazel had come to realise that magic was generally unreliable to work with; this all changed the moment she picked up her hazel wood and phoenix feather wand. 

 

Now, magic swept through her body as easily as water tumbled down a waterfall. It was both an addictive rush and a terrible knowledge. Hazel often found herself caressing her wand at odd moments, or flicking and swishing it beneath the table at dinner, her eyes far away as she remembered each and every spell in her mental inventory. For Hazel, who had never had much of anything at all, magic was like coming home on a cold winters night and realising that the fire was lit and a mug of hot chocolate awaited her on the table beside an overstuffed armchair. 

 

As October turned into November and cold winds brought sleet and snow down from the arctic, Hazel continued to delve into the magical arts and to explore the castle that had become her home. Like a wraith she wandered, occasionally lost and always alone, and absent to the eyes that searched her out each day. In the two, nearly three, months that Hazel Potter had been attending Hogwarts, the student body had come to realise that their hero was not nearly as personable as they might otherwise like and it had become something of a challenge to befriend the lone Ravenclaw.

 

Even the teachers had begun to notice, although so far none had acted upon their concerns. Of them all, Professor McGonagall was the most disappointed with the Potter heiress, wondering where they had all gone wrong. Hazel Potter was not what they had expected. Hazel was as brilliant as her mother, Lily had been, but was not as vivacious, compassionate, or kind; and while Hazel was definitely as powerful as James, her father, had been, she was not nearly so inclined to make mischief or befriend those around her. It was as though someone had distilled all of Lily’s drive, all of her tenacity, all of her intelligence, and mixed those traits with all of James’ determination, all of his courage, all of his nobility, and removed all the personable traits that had so characterised Hazel’s parents.

 

Eventually, as December ended and no presents arrived for Hazel in the post and the girl didn’t display a single ounce of disappointment in the fact, it was just assumed that Hazel was happy as she was and that, while she might have been born to James and Lily Potter, she was definitely not her parents’ child. She was just too different. 

 

Hazel, on the other hand, was having the time of her life. She had long since mastered all of first semester’s spell work, had received top marks for every single essay she had completed, and had received a commendation for her ability to fly on a broomstick. Now that it was the holidays until the second week of January, Hazel was trying out all the spells and curses in a second year Defence Against the Dark Arts book she had found lying around in the common room and had just finished charming the third year boys dormitory red and gold after Jeremy Smallwood had told her, she was a freak. 

 

Grinning to herself, Hazel all but danced out of the Ravenclaw common room to go to dinner when she almost tripped over a tiny, bat eared creature. “Oh!” Hazel yelped as she fell on her bum and stared at the tiny creature in shock. “Oh my! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” She asked, hastening to stand up and grab the tiny beings hands in apology.

 

The tiny being trembled as she touched it and it nodded its head fervently, “yes, Miss, Toddy is being okay, thank you, Miss!” 

 

Hazel relaxed in relief, “oh thank goodness,” she breathed with a bright smile, “I’m very glad I didn’t hurt you, that would have been terrible.”

 

Toddy grinned at her in reply, “Miss cannot hurt Toddy by knocking Toddy over,” he said in his funny high pitched voice and Toddy bounced on his toes in delight. “Miss is very kind though,” Toddy told her, “is Miss going to dinner now?”

 

Hazel’s eyes flew wide and she jumped up, “oh! I’m going to miss it!”

 

Toddy shook his head so hard that his ears flapped against his head. “No, Miss will not be missing out on anything, Toddy will take Miss to the kitchen,” he told her, and with that pronouncement, Toddy grabbed her hand and began to lead Hazel down stairways and corridors until they were just off the Entrance Hall in a tiny side corridor where a picture of a bowl of fruit hung on the wall. Toddy reached up and gently tickled the pair before Hazel’s disbelieving eyes. Toddy then pushed Hazel through the newly opened doorway and into a hubbub of other creatures like Toddy, who came to a standstill as she materialised in their presence with an exclamation of surprise.

 

“I knew our food couldn’t have been magicked out of thin air!” Hazel exclaimed excitedly, as she took in the neat chaos of the kitchens around her, “ha!”

 

Toddy gave a tiny giggle from behind her and tilted his head to the side as he surveyed her with bright, tennis ball eyes. “Miss is being hungry, yes?” Toddy asked her, “would Miss be liking to have something to eat?”

 

Hazel couldn’t help but nod fervently, “I’m starving,” she told him, “but you don’t have to go to too much trouble, I don’t each much.”

 

A nearby being, smaller and younger looking than Toddy, piped up, “why is you not be eating much, Miss?” She asked curiously.

 

Hazel shrugged as she accepted a glass of pumpkin juice with a weary look, just once, she would like something other than pumpkin juice. Hazel hated pumpkins. “I don’t get to eat much outside of school, so I guess I’m not used to it,” she told the tiny creature indifferently.

 

There were shocked gasps from the creatures that surrounded her and as one they began to wail and clamour that it was not right that a little Mistress was not being fed properly outside of their care. Indeed, Toddy was looking particularly distressed at the news and was wringing his hands together in agitation. 

 

“Toddy will be bringing Miss food when she leaves Hogwarts in June,” Toddy said decisively, “Toddy will not be letting Miss be starving ever again.”

 

“Frumpy be helping Toddy,” the tiny being who had asked the original question declared, “Frumpy is a good house-elf who looks after all the little Misses and Misters.”

 

“Pretty is helping too,” another voice shouted over the din of voices that all assured Hazel that next June, she would not be wanting for food.

 

Hazel was unable to help the tears that spilled down her cheeks at the tiny house elves assurances and she smiled at them in thankful gratitude. She got up from her chair and fell to her knees beside Toddy and Frumpy and enveloped them in a massive hug. Then, one by one, Hazel made sure to hug every single house elf in the kitchens, even the ones who hadn’t really said anything, but who had nodded along with their fellows in agreement. 

 

“Thank you,” she told them, “thank you all so, so, so much. You don’t know what this means to me. I really appreciate it.”

 

Toddy had turned bright red, “Miss is being very kind,” he told her in embarrassment.

 

“No, Toddy,” Hazel denied, “you and your friends are being very kind. Thank you,” she told them all again as she retook her seat at the table. When she was maybe half-way through her sandwich the elves had made her, Hazel paused uncertainly, “would you mind if I came down here to visit with you all?”

 

Frumpy, who had been stationed nearby to wait on her, blinked in surprise. “Miss is wanting to visit with the house elves?” She asked in equal uncertainty and once again all movement stopped as the house elves turned to stare at her.

 

Hazel squirmed, “if thats okay with you,” she said, “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

 

Frumpy’s brilliant and delighted grin was answer enough for her.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Hazel finished the school year, not in the Great Hall with the rest of the student body, but in the kitchen with several hundred of her closest friends. It had taken Hazel close to three months of constant reminders and determination before the house elf staff had called her by her first time with no title at the beginning of it, and a further two on top of that before they even considered eating alongside her. 

 

But now, on the last day of school when exams were all over and everyone else was seated upstairs eating the feast that the elves had spent the past nine hours cooking, Hazel was seated beside Toddy and Frumpy in the middle of eating her own feast that she had helped create and couldn’t help but feel as though she was the luckiest girl alive. 

 

The last year had been the strangest she had ever experienced; from the rumoured troll on Halloween, when she’d been holed up in the library trying to convince Madam Pince to let her borrow a book that was aimed towards higher year levels; to the apparently warded off third floor corridor which supposedly held a great and terrible beast that would kill you as soon as look at you, and the magnificent treasure it guarded. 

 

Magic school, Hazel reflected as she cheerfully poured herself an enormous glass of orange juice, having convinced Toddy to try out other juices not just pumpkin, was by far the best thing ever; and later tonight, when she boarded the Hogwarts Express back to London, she did so with the knowledge that she would not be alone nor would she starve.

 

Happy thoughts indeed.

 

Hazel allowed Toddy to fuss over her cloak and uniform that she would change out of on the train, before she bent down and gave every single house elf a hug goodbye. She was sorry to leave, but she knew better than to beg to stay. This was a school, not an orphanage, and besides, Frumpy had promised to follow close behind and bring dinner with her. Hazel would be fine.

 

The air was warm as she stepped off the train and onto the bustling platform at Kings Cross station. Not even an hour later, and Hazel was slipping through the ticket machines at Bethnal Green station and was staggering to a stop in the bright sunshine of the new summer day. Hazel grinned, she had three months of near perfect freedom, and while she knew better than to attempt wanded magic outside of school, Toddy had seen her wandless capabilities and was more than happy to school her in them. 

 

Hazel wandered down Whitehall Road, past the Museum of Childhood, towards Mile End Park where there was a long, winding canal that led down passed London zoo and the giant cage of exotic birds, to a tall bridge with hollows at the feet of its colonnades. It was here that she would make her home for the night.

 

Hazel dug through her rucksack and pulled out her thin blanket and proceeded to wrap her thin body in it. Tugging her hood up and over head, Hazel settled down for the evening and watched the sun slowly sink below the horizon and paint the sky pink, green, and gold. It was a beautiful sight. In between one breath and the next, Hazel fell asleep.

 

The call of larks and the cooing of pigeons woke Hazel the next morning along with the unwelcome spatter of cold water working its way beneath the collar of her jumper, her hood must have come off sometime during the night. Beside her sat a full plate of roasted chicken and vegetables, and Hazel couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Frumpy had kept her promise. Hazel must have been way too tired if she didn’t hear the other being, that or she’d gotten out of practice of living rough after the luxury of the Ravenclaw dorms. Either way, it would not bear repeating; because you never knew who might sneak up on you.

 

Packing her gear away, Hazel bolted down last nights dinner and, as she set the knife down and began to wonder what to do with the plate, watched in shock as the plate and cutlery disappeared before her very eyes. Hazel giggled in delight, she didn’t think she would ever get tired of magic, ever. 

 

Still grinning, Hazel climbed to her feet and began to make her way back to Bethnal Green station where she would have to catch a train into the city. She had business in the library there. According to Madam Pince, the Library of London in Saint James’ Square held the largest collection of magical books in the world outside of the Library of Alexandria, in Egypt. It was a source of knowledge that Hazel was anxious to get her hands on.

 

An hour later, spent dodging ticket inspectors and avoiding the keen eye of police inspectors, Hazel found herself on the white marble steps of the London Library and couldn’t hide her delighted grin. One did not maintain their number one placement on their school record without a decent amount of study.  

 

The Library of London was an enormous institution that had steeped the very air within its walls with the kind of leaden gravity that commanded all patrons to not only maintain quiet, but near silence. It was an oppressive atmosphere, but, for all of that, Hazel loved it. Hazel spent hours wandering the stacks, having slipped passed security into the very bowels of the library itself where a single copy of every book printed was stored in great metal cabinets. Every now and then, Hazel would pick a book up, skim a few pages and then set it back down, content in the knowledge that she had more than enough time.

 

But time, as ever it does, has a way of slipping past us when we are otherwise occupied, and Hazel, who had stumbled across a slim book on international politics that, for whatever reason, called to her, felt her stomach lurch as a loud bell tone sounded, alerting the staff to the fact that the library was closing. Hazel was so far inside that she had no idea where she was, let alone how to get out and with slow, terrifying inevitability, the lights began to turn off, row by row. 

 

Plunged into darkness, Hazel found her breaths coming sharp and rapid as panic well in her chest and she held out her hands as she began to walk along the stacks, trying to find a way out; and like a surge of fire, magic raced long her veins until it burst out her fingertips, and shining white light coalesced into a hovering ball just in front of her face. Hazel stared in surprise at the phenomenon and couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped her, and just as she was beginning to relax, a crack sounded behind her, and Hazel spun around in shock and fear.

 

“Toddy!” Hazel gasped, her sudden relief nearly driving her to her knees. “You scared me,” she told him as she clutched the front of her hoodie and pressed her knuckles into her breastbone.

 

Toddy bounced anxiously on his toes, looking very sad, “Toddy is sorry, Miss Hazel, but us house elves is only just finding you.”

 

Hazel’s eyes widened, remembering Toddy’s assurance that the elves would feed her several times a day and take care of her. “It’s okay, Toddy,” Hazel told him automatically, because it was. The house elves had volunteered their services, they didn’t have to feed her; besides, they were her friends, she would always forgive them.

 

Toddy relaxed beneath her benevolent gaze, “thank you, Miss Hazel,” Toddy said with a cheery grin before looking around him curiously, “where is we?”

 

“The Library of London, Toddy,” Hazel said with a grin, “it’s brilliant, isn’t it?”

 

Toddy nodded, “it is,” he agreed. “Toddy is bringing food for Hazel, is Miss Hazel wanting to eat now?”

 

Hazel, while she was hungry, remembered something with the topic of food. “Oh! You reminded me,” she said excitedly, “come on!”

 

Toddy was swept up in Hazel’s excitement and raced after the preteen Hogwarts student, his ears flapping with every stride. Behind them, left on the floor in the receding light of the magical orbs that bounced after Hazel and Toddy above their heads, sat the slim volume that Hazel had been reading, left to be found by the very confused staff the next day. 

 

Hazel backtracked through the stacks, utilising her excellent memory to remember the way, which was vague at best because she had been so overawed by the sheer volume of knowledge within the library. Finally, after a half hour of searching desperately, Hazel rounded a corner and above her head the orb of bright light shone down upon row upon row of cookbooks from every country in the world.

 

“Found it!” Hazel grabbed Toddy’s hand and twirled the little house elf around, “look, Toddy, cookbooks!”

 

Toddy reached out and pulled a nearby book off the shelf and cracked it open in curiosity, “what is a cookbook, Miss Hazel?”

 

Hazel grinned, “a cookbook shows you how to make different foods and what you need to make them.”

 

Toddy’s eyes widened and he began to flick through the pages of the book rapidly. Hazel settled on the floor and watched the house elf go from book to book and read it voraciously. She knew he had to be using some kind of magic to do so, because she knew that it wasn’t possible to read three book in twenty minutes, but Toddy certainly had. Hazel was glad that she had found something that her friend enjoyed. 

 

“Hey, Toddy, can I eat while you read?” Hazel asked, “and maybe you can show me some recipes you might want to try out?”

 

Toddy gave a toothy grin and was more than happy comply. It was a very enjoyable night spent all ‘round. Hazel in particular loved Toddy’s expression when he found a book on Mexican food. Somehow, she thought, Hogwarts’ diet next year would be very different to what people were used to. Hazel grinned at the thought.


	7. Chapter 7

June and July whiled away into mid-August beneath the Library of London for Hazel. Between the house elves of Hogwarts and her own natural curiosity that was tempered by a learned avoidance of humanity, Hazel went for nothing during those two months, and when Frumpy arrived with her letter and a bag of gold from her account beneath Gringotts bank, Hazel began to look for ways to get what she needed without being recognised. 

 

Despite the intervening year, Hazel remembered quite a bit about her creation, Stacey Lake; and it was with determined blue eyes that Hazel set about crafting a backstory and series of traits that would characterise little Miss Lake. Hazel determined to make Stacey the bubbly kind of personality that would make people smile and love her, the kind of personality that would mirror the stereotype of her physical looks that were blonde and blue eyed. 

 

Toddy helped by finding a skirt and blouse that matched Stacey Lake far more than any of Hazel Potter’s clothing, which was boyish and ratty outside of her school uniform. While Frumpy made sure that Stacey Lake’s hair was pulled up in a neat pony-tail and any stray pieces were pinned in place. Hazel was not ashamed to admit that based Stacey Lake on a mixture of Gryffindor swot, Hermione Granger, and Slytherin princess, Draco Malfoy; but then, Hazel had learnt early on how to hold a grudge, and those two made it far too easy.

 

Diagon Alley was as busy as it had been a year ago, and though the newly minted Stacey Lake wore her hair up with a powder blue blouse, navy denim skirt, and black Mary-Jane’s; she also wore a long royal blue cloak and carried a bottomless purse with an expanding mouth that had easily swallowed all of Hazel’s dearest possessions. Wandering from shop to shop and buying her school necessities, it wasn’t long until Stacey ran head long into a crowd of Gryffindor redheads. 

 

The eldest wore his school cloak over his casual muggle clothing and was unconsciously tugging at the edges of his cloak as he harried his siblings into some form of order. The next eldest, the twins, were characterised, as always, by their unholy grins and vicious eyes; not for the first time did Hazel shudder beneath her donned mask and promise herself to avoid them at all costs. The Weasley twins were well known for being unnaturally cruel to those who they didn't count as their friends. The two youngest, a boy in her year she knew to be called Ron, and his unknown sister, were complaining bitterly about being poor and not getting what they wanted. 

 

Stacey listened to the two children and felt her stomach roil in acidic fury, wanting nothing more than to hit the two whiny brats with every spell she knew. It wasn’t fair that they, who didn't appreciate what they did had, were complaining so loudly about what they thought they deserved. Stacey bit her lip and turned away, slipping into the bookstore, ignoring the poster in the window that promoted a famous authors signing. It wasn’t as though she cared about other people; (maybe if she thought it enough it might become true, one day). 

 

Inside the bookstore, Stacey regained some measure of calm as she ran trembling fingers along the spines of her most beloved friends, books. Smiling, Stacey picked out the core curriculum, curling her lip at the defence texts, knowing that she was unable to afford them all. Instead, she picked out two that seemed to be the most pertinent to her studies, _Voyages with Vampires_ and _Gadding with Ghouls,_ and slipped them into her basket. Then, the real fun began.

 

Flourish and Blotts, although not well known for it, held a number of out of print titles for a third of their original price. Usually because they were older, out-of-date copies of updated and newer books. Despite the outdated information, the books still held useful and interesting information for the savvy reader that was willing to winnow her way through the copyright pages and scan for the earliest publish dates. It took a long time, but was well worth the effort, Stacey thought as she placed a fifth edition copy of Vindictus Viridian’s bestselling _1001 Curses to Curse Your Enemies With_ , which was only missing the signed prefix in the sixth copy; it was also well over half the price.

 

“You know,” an arrogant voice stated from behind Stacey, “there’s a newer, better copy of that book on the shelves in the defence section.”

 

Stacey spun around and nearly rolled her eyes out of her skull at the sight of Little Miss Swot standing in front of her. “Yes, and despite this books missing prefix, it’s also a third of the price,” Stacey informed Granger pointedly.

 

Granger huffed, “well, I suppose I can understand that,” she said with a genuine expression of regret on her face. “I’m sorry.” Stacey’s eyes narrowed at her but she didn’t say anything, instead, she pushed past Granger and joined the very short queue to the register. “Wait,” Granger said quickly, grabbing Stacey’s arm, “you didn’t see this one, it’s just as good.”

 

Stacey looked at the _Beginners Guide to Practical Defence_ in Granger’s hand and smirked in amusement, “I read that first term in first year,” she told the Gryffindor loftily, “I didn’t think it was that great.”

 

Granger recoiled and took a step back. “Right,” she said, “I guess you’d be pretty good at defence if your reading Viridian’s books in what, your second - third - year?”

 

“Second,” Stacey agreed, wondering what Granger would say if she knew Stacey was her biggest rival at school and her only contender for first placement within the grade rankings.

 

“Right,” Granger repeated, her brown eyes shining in a mix of worry and glee, “so, I don’t think I’ve seen you at Hogwarts…” the Gryffindor trailed off uncertainly and Stacey floundered, it wasn’t as though she had created a backstory that included her schooling, but that hadn’t stopped her in a lie before.

 

“Beauxbatons,” Stacey said, allowing the hint of a faux French accent to curl at the edges of her words. “Parlez-vous Français, mademoiselle?”

 

Granger’s mouth fell open and Stacey was never so glad as to find the language section in the London Library and find the visiting French academic who’s memories of learning to speak French and Spanish she had shamelessly stolen and left him with no memory of. 

 

“You’re French!” Granger had never looked so excited, “I’m going to France next year during the holidays, we should meet up there!”

 

Stacey felt trapped, “perhaps we should,” she agreed with some measure of calm, wondering what she had done now. On the other hand, she realised that it wasn’t as though she _had_ to stay within Great Britain’s borders. Sure, she didn’t have a passport, but the European Union had introduced invisible borders seven years ago, which allowed for ease of passage between them. Suddenly, Hazel’s various holiday plans between each Hogwarts school year were no longer restricted to England proper, but the entire world. Stacey regarded Granger with equanimity, she still hated the swot, but she appreciated Granger’s suggestion. 

 

“Wait, stay here,” Granger was saying, “I need to introduce you to my parents!”

 

Stacey was left standing in the checkout line waiting for Granger and her parents to return. Something which didn't happen by the time it was her time for her purchases to be rung up by the shop assistant, and thus Granger never saw how an entire basketful of books were slipped into the vast depths of Stacey’s handbag. The shop assistant did, however, and looked impressed at the advanced spell work. Bottomless charms were seventh year level at least, and not every witch or wizard had the power to pull it off. That Stacey’s was house elf charmed was neither here nor there, it was still impressive all the same. 

 

By the time Granger reappeared, Stacey was long gone, although she had left a note with the shopkeeper of Flourish and Blotts which said something about her mother waiting for her and a train to Calais that she was running late for. Bitter disappointment burned through Hermione when she realised that her new friend hadn’t even left her a forwarding address, let alone a name to find her by. The young lion wilted beneath the exasperated expressions of her parents and she followed the two dentists from the bookstore, slipping the ragged slip of paper into her pocket. A physical reminder of a chance meeting with a young French girl.

 

Deep in the heart of London’s library, Hazel Potter shed the last of Stacey Lake from her magic and crawled into the air vent where she had been living for the past two months. Kneeling in the tallest section, Hazel pulled out a thin notebook that was charmed to her magical signature and entered a profile for her new French persona, which, she had come to quickly realise, didn’t suit the name Stacey Lake. Stacey, she thought as she nibbled on the end of her self-inking quill, would probably be an American, with a name like that.

 

It was pretty lucky then, that Hazel was more than accomplished at mimicking accents from other nations. Within her new notebook, Hazel wrote Stacey’s name at the top of the page and then, with a mirror in hand, set about deciding what Stacey Lake, American schoolgirl, would look like. It took a long time, but eventually Hazel settled on a very boring mix of brown hair and brown eyes that would barely get a second look, because Stacey was a quiet girl who was very polite and respectful. Grinning, Hazel, who had always loved stories and now equated this to writing novels and creating characters, decided that while Stacey was a bit boring, she was a good person and someone people would love to meet.

 

Then, on a second page, Hazel wrote the name Jeanne Dubois, French schoolgirl, and then set to describing her as blonde haired and blue eyed with a bright, bubbly personality that was a little bit argumentative at times. Mostly because Hazel didn’t think she could ever tone down her _own_ argumentative nature.

 

Smiling to herself, Hazel was unable to help herself and then created a fiery redheaded, green eyed, Irish lass who had freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks and named her after her mother, Lily, and unable to think of a last name for her decided to use a third year’s first name, Cassidy, as her last. Cassidy Fanning was a right bastard, Hazel thought to herself, remembering how the older boy had helped Jeremy Smallwood wreck her charms book and avoid detection from their head of house. But still, he had served a purpose, and Lily Cassidy was noted down as quick-tempered and loud, with a bright laugh and a certain joie de vivre.

 

Hazel spent hours creating names and faces for people in her little notebook, never once really thinking through the implications of her work. Not once did she think to note down her own, instead, she perfected how each person walked, talked, and acted, until she was able to do each without thought or prompting. The last three weeks of her holidays was sent running around London practicing her new forms and stealing enough clothes to outfit each character at least twice. It was youthful exuberance at best, and Hazel had never had so much fun in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends the latest update. I'd like to apologise for the length of time since my last, but life has been unnaturally busy between work, uni, and family. Once again, it will be a long time between updates, I haven't even started the next chapter, I'm sorry to say, but until uni finishes for the year, I'm unlikely to have much time to do anything else than assignments.
> 
> R&R, should you so desire. Thank you all for your Kudos and comments, they make me smile to see them. 
> 
> Until next time, my best and kindest regards,  
> Sar_Kalu


	8. Chapter 8

 

Hazel’s arrival at Hogwarts was noticeable in her absence from the starting feast, because the moment she could, Hazel had hastened down to the kitchens where her house elf friends were waiting for her with a mountain of food they had all prepared. Frumpy had squealed in excitement when she had seen the young Ravenclaw, and Hazel had laughed in delight and embraced her friend tight enough that the equally young elf had squeaked a minor protest.

 

“Miss Hazel has returned!” Toddy exclaimed, tackling Hazel with his own hug, and one by one, each elf added their own love and thanks that their young human friend had returned to them safe and unharmed once more for a new school year. 

 

Frumpy was nodding rapidly, “we is so relieved,” she told the Ravenclaw in her high pitched excitable voice, “there is bad things happening in the wizarding world, Miss Hazel, the Dark Lord is returning once again.”

 

Hazel, who had not been prepared at all for Frumpy’s words, given that the elves, while still providing her with food each morning, afternoon, and night, had barely seen her friends since her trip to diagon alley. “The Dark Lord?” Hazel asked in horror, “as in Voldemort?”

 

There was a chorus of moans and Toddy twisted his ears violently in his hands, shaking his head from side to side in despair, “you should not be saying his name, Hazel, bad things happen when you is saying the Dark Lords name!”

 

“Bad things?” Hazel asked, “what bad things?”

 

Frumpy cried out and hid her face in her hands while an older elf, by the name of Gadge, wrapped his arms around Frumpy and tried to console her. “Bad things, Miss Hazel,” Gadge told her warningly, “dark wizards known when you is saying _HIS_ name and many have died from their foolishness.”

 

“Know?” Hazel whispered, “how can they know?”

 

Toddy was still shaking his head, but it had slowed so he now looked like an old elephant swaying from side to side, “they is always knowing these things, Miss Hazel. Dark magic always finds its enemies,” he told her in quiet terror, “it always burns them alive!”

 

Hazel felt a frisson of fear ribbon its way like ice through her body and her skin prickled uncomfortably; she wasn't hungry anymore. “What do we do?”

 

“Do?” Gadge asked her, “there is nothing we can do. We could hide, we could run, we could fight; but we is house elves, and house elves is being allowed to do nothing.”

 

“No!” Hazel said in an explosive rush of air, “I am not going to sit by while you are all killed, I will not allow it!”

 

Her determination burned like fire through her veins and her wand was warm and heavy in the palm of her hand, blood pounded a distant tattoo in her ears and Hazel could barely hear anything but the rage that burnt an unpleasant path through her body. 

 

She would not allow her friends to die.

 

The door to the kitchens swung open and Hazel spun around, the tip of her wand glowing a dark, deadly red to mimic the force of her fury and it met with the tip of a very long, very thin, very crooked nose whereon perched a set of gold, half-moon spectacles behind which twinkled two, bright blue eyes. This was the first time that Hazel had met her ageing Headmaster, but she had felt the seductive call of his magic well before now; as always, she was unable to halt the step-back reaction that was in response to the knowledge that the call  of Albus Dumbledore’s magic rang too-sweet and all too false. 

 

“Headmaster!” Hazel exclaimed in shock, despite which, she did not drop her wand or flush under his all too knowing gaze. 

 

Headmaster Dumbledore ran his wise gaze over the ragged form of his most confusing student, noting the crackling magic that ran thick and wild beneath her skin like an untamed beast, and then rested his eyes upon the tip of the wand that swayed minutely before his nose, and smiled. “Miss Potter, a commendation to you for always being prepared trouble,” he said with some amusement, not regarding the new second year to be any particular kind of threat; but then why would he? She was but twelve years old, not even half-trained, and he a hundred year old wizard widely regarded to be the strongest and most powerful wizard of the age. 

 

Hazel stared up at Professor Dumbledore uncertainly, the tip of her wand lowering slowly until it rested gently against her knee. “Is there something wrong, Professor?” She asked, wondering if she had done something wrong to have the Headmaster of the school looking for her. Unless, of course, this was a mere coincidence, but somehow, Hazel doubted that. There was something in the way he was looking at her. A cunning, almost-hunger in his sharp blue eyes, that for all they were the wrong colour, reminded her all too forcefully of a hawk she had seen at the London zoo several years ago.

 

The Headmaster tilted his head to the side, wondering at the mature response Hazel had given him, and gave a faint hum as he smiled genially at her. “Not at all, Miss Potter,” he told her gently, “we just missed you at dinner this evening, and your Head of House, Professor Flitwick, was concerned that something might have happened to you.”

 

Hazel flushed beneath that all-knowing gaze, and momentarily cursed human curiosity. “Sorry, Professor,” she said, looking for all the world as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. It was a look she had cultivated over the years, and one that had served her extremely well. “I just,” Hazel paused, looking over at Toddy and Frumpy and bit her lip, “they’re my friends,” she told the Headmaster finally. “They all are.” Toddy and Frumpy were not the only elves to nod their heads in rapid agreement, but they were the most emphatic. 

 

Professor Dumbledore smiled in delight at Hazel’s words, it wasn’t every day that wizards and withes acknowledged those beings that were below them. “Of course,” he agreed happily, wondering how he might use this to his benefit. Clearly the Saviour of the wizarding world was sympathetic to lost causes and those who deserved her pity. She wasn’t a heartless creature after all. Albus was pleased.

 

Hazel chanced a glimpse into the Headmasters mind but found nothing but a shimmering haze, and she wondered at what had caused it. It was nothing like she had ever seen or experienced before. “Professor,” Hazel wondered before changing tack immediately, she doubted that even the Great Albus Dumbledore would be pleased to know that she could read minds. “Sorry,” she muttered, ducking her head and letting her long black fringe to cover her face, “it’s just, the feast is over, isn’t it?”

 

Professor Dumbledore wondered what the girl had been about to say, but decided that it wasn’t really worth asking. “Indeed, it is,” the Headmaster agreed, reaching out to grip Hazel’s thin shoulder, his strong fingers digging into the muscles of her neck and shoulder, and his thumb rested in the hollow beneath her collarbone. Professor Dumbledore never noticed that Hazel twitched beneath his touch, and that her spine stiffened and straightened as he began to lead her from the kitchens. “Come along, I’ll escort you back to your dormitory so you don’t receive detention for being out after curfew.”

 

“Thank you, Professor,” Hazel murmured as the hand that held her wand against her leg slipped into her pants pocket and the other reached up to fiddle with her tie. 

 

Behind her, Toddy and Frumpy watched the two magical humans leave with worried eyes. Despite being only young in elf years, Frumpy could feel that there was something off with the young Miss Potter’s reaction to the Headmasters touch; while Toddy had seen the deeply hidden greed in the Headmaster’s gaze and the way his fingers had curved painfully tight into Hazel’s shoulder. The Headmaster’s magic too, had been hungry; almost curling around the girl like a snake might  coil around a hapless mouse. 

 

Curled beneath her covers later that night, Hazel reflected upon the two different conversations she’d had that day. The house elves and their conviction that the Dark Lord was returning; and the Headmaster, and his near-fanatical grip upon her shoulder as he had led her from the kitchens to the Ravenclaw dorms. In fact, Hazel reflected, Professor Dumbledore had almost steered her to the seventh floor, not the sixth, until she had reminded him, her left hand still fiddling with her tie nervously.

 

The revelation of the Dark Lord returning only underlined just how important magic was to Hazel now. Sure, it had stolen away her parents, but Hazel had never known them. James and Lily Potter were nothing more than stories to be heard from disappointed teachers. A fantasy that had been whispered in the dark of her cupboard. A bare memory of green light and screams. 

 

For Hazel, magic represented freedom from oppression. It was the rush of the London, it was the beauty of the stars at night, it was the bony embrace of elves, it was the weightlessness of a broomstick ride, it was the warm weight of a wand in her hands, it was the fire in her veins, it was the twisting of her body into another form, but most of all, magic was everything Hazel loved and coveted. No one was going to take that from her; she’d rather die, than go back to the dreary existence before she knew of magic and all that it could give her.

 

With the return of the Dark Lord, Hazel was now forced to consider that she might not be allowed to continue as she was. The Headmaster seeking her out all because she wasn’t at dinner, only emphasised that probability. Worrying her lip between her teeth, Hazel stared out the window nearest to her bed and traced a finger along her jawline. Things were becoming unstable, and Hazel felt, with her magic curling into a ball beneath her breastbone, like she was standing on the edge of a precipice, where one foot wrong could send her tumbling down…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the only chapter this week, but I will try to update early next week in recompense. I hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> Regards,   
> Sar_Kalu


	9. Chapter 9

Classes had started with a bang for the Gryffindors, and Hazel, sitting in the Great Hall for lunch with a sandwich in hand, couldn’t help the faint smirk that graced her lips as Hermione Granger attempted to defend Professor Lockheart to her male year mates, despite the fact that the new Defence Professor had unleashed Cornish Pixies upon the unsuspecting second years. Hazel rolled her eyes at the foppish Professor sitting at the head table, his ears burning red as Professor McGonagall visibly chided him from behind a privacy spell. It was the funniest thing Hazel had seen in a long time.

 

“Alright, Scar Head?” A snide voice asked from behind her as Draco Malfoy came up to the Ravenclaw table, his bodyguards flanking him with mean expressions on their faces. 

 

Hazel looked up, met Malfoy’s eyes, and returned her gaze to her sandwich, taking another bite. It was chicken and mayo day, and Hazel was pretty pleased with the fact that she could now stack a layer of crisps onto the mayo slathered sandwich, giving it a delightfully salty crunch. As usual, Toddy’s soft spot for her had payed off.

 

“I said, alright, Scar Head?” Malfoy’s abrasive voice cracked abruptly in the middle of his supposedly threatening sentence and Hazel snorted into her lunch. 

 

It was one thing to be threatened by a high pitched adolescent male voice, it was quite another to hear that voice shoot up three registers before plummeting another five. She just couldn’t take him seriously with his voice warbling between pitches like that. Unable to take the pressure of remaining silent like that, Hazel swung off the trestle seat and slung her book bag over her should, knocking shoulders with Vincent Crabbe as she passed. 

 

Malfoy grabbed her shoulder strap and pulled Hazel backwards, upsetting her centre of gravity and sending Hazel sprawling between the two House tables. Abruptly, silence fell as people began to take notice of the altercation. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Potter!” Malfoy’s voice cracked again and his cheeks heated pink as Hazel obviously bit back a laugh at the sound.

 

Hazel picked herself up and straightened her skirt, she refused to meet Malfoy’s eyes. Once again knocking shoulders with Crabbe, this time Hazel twisted to the side as Malfoy made to grab her shoulder strap and Hazel all but skipped from the Great Hall, never knowing that several tiny first years stared after her in awe, inspired by her utter indifference when it came to Malfoy’s attempts to bully her. 

 

It wasn’t until mid-week that Hazel had her own Defence Against the Dark Arts experience, and, as she hesitantly filled out the questionnaire that Professor Lockheart had handed out at the start of the lesson, Hazel was quick to realise that it would be an incredibly useless class. Much like last years had been. 

 

With a slight sigh, Hazel attempted to tune out the ridiculous blather that Professor Lockheart was spewing up the front and started to list all the kind of information she might have to learn should the Dark Lord return. Never mind that the wizarding world thought that the Dark Lord was dead, the house elves knew differently; and if there was one thing that Hazel knew about house elves, was that they were rarely wrong when it came to things of a magical nature. If darkness was brewing and they told you about it, then you would be a fool to ignore them. 

 

Escaping the class the moment the bell rang, disregarding Professor Lockheart’s calls for her to remain behind, Hazel skidded into the library for the period before dinner. Grinning to herself, Hazel settled herself in Defence section and began to take notes of all the spell and charms she might need for when the world began to end. 

 

It was like she was a protagonist in an adventure novel, Hazel thought to herself near to the middle of October, as she flicked her wand and sent a cascade of water from its tip. Over the past month, Hazel had spent more time avoiding people than she had ever had to before. Apparently last year had given her the appearance of being a mystery, which in combination with her top marks, had elevated her to near-Merlin status. It was driving Hazel insane. 

 

Another flick of her wand froze the puddle of water in the middle of the abandoned classroom she had warded and taken over as her own personal study space. Of course, Hazel continued her previous train of thought almost absently, no protagonist in any adventure novel would ever put up with the things she had to on a daily basis. 

 

Professors Lockheart and Snape had both taken to singling her out at every opportunity, and it was beginning to scare her a little. First year, Snape had mostly ignored her. Oh sure, the tall dark haired wizard had certainly _watched_ her, but he’d never said or done anything to harm her - emotionally or physically. 

 

But now… Hazel stared at the frozen puddle of water in contemplation,  something had changed. Lockheart enjoyed touching her. His eyes constantly sought her out and his smile was slick and oily. It made her tremble and cringe. Snape on the other hand, was more contemplative. He shot long, complicated questions in her direction during class and smiled when she inevitably got them right. His smile was… disturbing; it was more than proud, it was almost hungry…

 

Hazel swept her wand up before dragging it sharply down in a swoop towards her left side - and the puddle evaporated with a bubbling hiss. Hazel smiled, satisfied. She would avoid both male teachers, she decided, barring class she would hide away and out of their reach. Perhaps then, nothing would happen; because there was something.. not right about Snape and Lockheart. Hazel felt very uncomfortable around them and she didn’t know why.

 

October bled into November. The days grew shorter and colder, and a chill wind wailed down from the North. Snow threatened on the horizon and with the foul weather came came a warning painted in bright, red blood upon the wall of the Second floor corridor outside the Girls Bathroom: 

 

_The Chamber Of Secrets has been opened… Enemies of the Heir, beware!_

 

Hazel watched the school button down its hatches as children and adults hurried around looking fearful and wary. Only the Slytherin’s were brazen in their “bravery”. Bravery, Hazel snorted from her position at the Ravenclaw table, how brave were you when you knew by value of your ‘blood’ that you were safe from whatever Salazar Slytherin had hidden in a school of children.

 

Time slipped past and with it came attack after attack. A cat. A ghost. A Hufflepuff Second Year. A Gryffindor First Year. Quidditch games were cancelled. Students were escorted from class to class and teachers patrolled the corridors; and still Hazel slipped away and hid in the empty classroom on the Seventh floor.

 

She knew the entirety of the second and third year defence curriculum and thus far, she had experienced no problems with Salazar’s monster; but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t. Already it stalked her, the hissing voice in the walls spoke of murder and hunger, and Hazel knew - she _knew_ because what else could it be? - that this was Slytherin’s beast. 

 

All that remained was to work out what it was.

 

A mystery that was solved during the extra-curricular Duelling classes that Professor Lockheart held with Professor Snape as his aid. Hazel had hovered towards the back, hidden between two tall Hufflepuff seventh years out of sight of both men - even when they moved between the students, because what use was her shape-shifting abilities if they couldn’t save her from unwanted attention?

 

It was Snape that suggested it, a one on one demonstration between two students. Malfoy had immediately nominated himself, his silver eyes shining with overweening pride and arrogance, bragging all about how his Daddy had taught him to duel from a young age. Hazel snorted at the thought, Malfoy could barely conjure sparks in the Charms class she shared with him; and he expected people to believe that he was a duelling prodigy? Not likely.

 

A redheaded Gryffindor was the idiot to loudly snort his disbelief at that. “Malfoy? He’s a slimy coward!” 

 

Snape had been about to turn on the young idiot only for Lockheart to gleefully pull the boy up on stage. “Another volunteer!” Lockheart crowed delightedly, “excellent, excellent!”

 

What followed was a disaster of epic proportions. The redhead, Weasley apparently, was as poor at magic as his Slytherin counterpart; but where Malfoy was truly talented at transfiguration and conjuration, Weasley was barely able to summon up a shield to protect himself from the snake that Malfoy set upon him. 

 

“Why are we watching a couple of second years duke it out?” One of the Hufflepuff’s demanded scornfully, rolling his eyes as Weasley shrieked and fled the hissing snake that was more confused than anything else.

 

Malfoy stood on the stage gloating his “win”, ignoring the way the snake had spotted him and was now coiling up in preparation to strike it’s “Master”. From her position, Hazel could barely see what was going on but she could hear the snakes cursing and Malfoy’s high pitched howl of pain. She could also see Lockheart’s ridiculous flourish of his wand that sent the snake frisbeeing into the air, much to Snape’s obvious consternation.

 

 _$Muderer’s, thieves, liars!$_ The snake hissed in distressed, unnaturally intelligent to Hazel’s ears, most snakes could barely string a sentence together. 

 

With a sigh, Hazel dispelled her disguise and stepped forwards. Her wand outstretched, Hazel ignored Lockheart’s assurances that everything would be fine, if only people would let him at the snake. Baleful green eyes pinned the snake in  place and Hazel cocked her head to the side in curiosity.

 

 _$A speaker,$_ The snake hissed to itself, able to feel the magic roiling off the girl’s slim form, _$why is there a speaker here?$_

 

Hazel smirked but did not answer, she could speak to snakes… how.. quaint. She flicked her wand but said nothing, banishing the snake to her room for later. There was a partition in her trunk that was well warded and expanded out. It would be perfect for holding an irate and highly poisonous snake.

 

“Miss Potter,” Snape said in smooth tones, “what did you do?”

 

Hazel met his eyes calmly, “banished it to whence it came. It would appear that Professor Lockheart is a little… out of practice,” she smirked, flicking her green gaze to the blond haired fop.

 

“Yes, well,” Lockheart stammered, “excellent wandwork, Miss Potter, uh.. let’s see, twenty points to Ravenclaw!”

 

“Thank you, Professor,” Hazel said sweetly, her smile faker than plastic. She stood silently as the two Professor’s wrapped up the duelling lesson, sending the students to bed. Melting into the mass of bodies, Hazel ignored the calls from Snape for her to remain behind. 

 

She had no desire to be left alone with either man; let alone both…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the length of time between updates. I know it's been a while but thing's have been busy. That said, I'm more in a position to write again. With luck, I'll be updating more regularly. 
> 
> Until next time,


	10. Chapter 10

The revelation that she could speak to snakes sat like a puzzle piece in the back of her mind. A vital one. Which was why she was sitting in the library late at night ripping through book after book, the snake that Malfoy had conjured up looped around her neck. It had been the Russell’s viper that had given her the notion to check the books on magical creatures within Hogwart’s library. 

 

It behaviour alone when the latest attack happened, had suggested that it too heard the hissing voice within the walls and that the beast was some kind of reptile; although, given the snakes commentary on lizards, Hazel was inclined to believe the creature was a snake as well.

 

It wasn’t until the third night that Hazel stumbled across Scamander’s thin volume on “Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them”. Moving past the descriptions of dragons, phoenixes, and griffins, Hazel flipped to the page that depicted an enormous acid green snake with a crest of crimson feathers. A basilisk.

 

There was no doubt to Hazel’s mind, the thing in the pipes was a ruddy great basilisk; because Salazar Slytherin was an egotistical bastard who would’ve been drawn to the notion of having the “King of All Serpent’s” as a pet. 

 

Fucking wizards.

 

The most recent attack had happened close to her position in the library. The Gryffindor swot, Hermione Granger and a sixth year Ravenclaw had been found petrified at the foot of the fifth floor staircase. Shattered glass from a broken chandelier surrounding their frozen bodies. 

 

Given the apparent deadliness of the basilisks gaze, Hazel counted them lucky. 

 

It took a further two weeks of practicing how to conjure a rooster that she could charm into crowing before Hazel made her way to the scene of the first “crime”. The second floor corridor was silent and still as she crept down it’s length. Viper, the conjured serpent, was yet again looped around her neck. The little fanged beast had demanded to come with her, despite conjured creations not really being sentient or real. Hazel was beginning to believe that Malfoy hadn’t conjured the snake, but rather had summoned it from it’s native habitat in India. It was a little to intelligent and alive for it to be a true conjuration - besides which, conjuration was a difficult skill to learn, that Malfoy had been able to before _she_ had was just… ridiculous.

 

The writing on the wall remained as bloody and vibrant as ever and it was here that Hazel suspected the opening to be. She cautiously pressed her way inside and ignoring the ghost that hovered above her curiously, began to search the bathroom carefully. Hazel was just beginning to give it up as a lost cause when the ghost floated down.

 

“Have you looked at the sinks?” She asked in a voice that sounded on the edge of tears.

 

Hazel nodded sharply and swiftly crossed the room to the tall column where all the sinks rested on. Each one was grimy and crusted with rust. The white marble was closer to a slick green from the scum of mould encrusted on it. Hazel was quite disinclined to touch anything there at all. 

 

“Ah,” Hazel breathed in contented revelation; and her fingers traced the engravings of a little snake on the side of the spigot. “It’s here, Viper,” she told her companion, able to feel the movement of his little head as he peeked out from between the lapels of her shirt.

 

 _$Open,$_ Hazel ordered, stepping backwards as the sinks parted to reveal a long tube. Hazel peered down its depths and grimaced in disgust; gross.

 

With silent disapproval that spoke volumes of Salazar Slytherin’s character and habits - a bathroom, really? - Hazel leapt into the yawning abyss. It felt like an age as she fell, but was probably closer to five minutes. She shot out the end and skittered across the stone floor, groaning at the feeling of hundreds of little bones digging into the soft flesh of her belly, legs, and arms. 

 

Hazel got to her feet, her hand soothing Viper’s agitated complaints that sounded as little hisses beneath her ear. “Settle down,” she murmured to the black and brown snake quietly, “we’re here.”

 

Viper’s curiosity had him rearing his head up and out of her shirt to stare at the slate door that was set into the granite wall before them. On the door twined two snakes with emeralds for eyes and rubies for scales. 

 

 _$Open,$_ Hazel requested, stepping into the Chamber when the door swung open. She strode down the corridor lined with dozens of rearing snake heads and curled her lip at the slick moss that grew underfoot. It truly was disgusting here; and it smelt of dead and dying things. 

 

The final chamber was cavernous and at the far end a mans face had been carved into the very stone. From where she stood, Hazel could make out the  hinging on the face’s, Salazar’s, mouth. It opened - somehow. 

 

Flicking her eyes about the rest of the chamber, Hazel noted the moat that surrounded the circular room. The floor was perfectly even and covered in black smooth marble flooring. Looking upwards, Hazel realised that the ceiling had four carved snakes as the supporting struts that held the roof up. 

 

This was not just a Chamber for the basilisk; it was also a ritual chamber. 

 

Hazel smirked and stood in the centre. Raising her arms out from her sides, Hazel struck a dramatic pose, _$Open, Salazar Slytherin$_

 

The chamber remained silent as nothing happened. Hazel thinned her lips in frustration, of course it wasn’t that easy. She glared at Slytherin’s edifice and palmed her wand. Well, if speaking to Slytherin didn’t work; perhaps speaking to the _basilisk_ would.

 

_$Come to me, basilisk, King of all Serpents!$_

 

The Chamber rumbled dramatically as something.. terrible.. woke within. A voice, dry and rasping, spoke: _$speak to me, Salazar, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four$_

 

... and Salazar Slytherin’s mouth dropped open.

 

Hazel snatched Viper from around her neck and set the small Russell’s viper upon the floor. As previously discussed, the tiny Indian serpent slithered off in search of somewhere safe to watch the proceedings. Viper found a rest near the mouth of the cavernous room, his gleaming black eyes watching with great curiosity at the arrival of the largest of all snakes in the world.

 

The Basilisk was.. beyond enormous. It’s head alone was the length and height of a double decker bus and its girth was more akin diameter of the worlds largest skyscraper than a snake. Hazel boggled at the sight. Never would she see a sight like this ever again. Or rather, so she hoped.

 

 _$Wow,$_ she breathed, snapping her eyes shut as the creature’s head snapped around to stare at her.

 

 _$You speak,$_ the basilisk commented in it’s dry and rasping voice, the sound of scales sliding over smooth stone grated in Hazel’s ears and she cringed beneath the fire of the basilisks magical gaze. Despite not looking into those malicious yellow eyes, she could still feel her skin blistering and cracking as though the basilisk held a thousand suns captured in that cold gaze.

 

 _$I speak,$_ Hazel agreed, her voice wavering despite her determined control. _$I’ve come to find out if you will be swayed to no longer attack the school. If you can be convinced to be merciful to Hogwart’s students.$_

 

The Basilisk curled its great length around the chamber, blocking the exit with its huge bulk. _$What is mercy to a basilisk?$ The basilisk asked philosophically, $I do as Salazar intended. I have no need for human mercy.$_

 

Hazel felt her spine straighten and though she knew she would not likely survive this encounter, she still nodded her head in determination. She owed the students and professors of this school nothing, but she could not give up magic now that she had it and the closing of Hogwart’s would be massively inconvenient to her. Hazel zagged her wand before her, her eyes still closed, but trusting her magic to obey her.

 

The basilisk drew itself up, hissing violently about betrayal and its rage; only to be cut off by the crow of a rooster. The giant serpent _screamed_ it’s pain and its death throws crushed the rooster and cracked the floor they stood on. Hazel clapped her hands over her ears and screamed alongside the beast, unable to see, unable to hear, and quite exposed in the middle of the room, it was a miracle she wasn’t killed.

 

Silence reigned.

 

Hazel Potter opened her eyes and stared at the slowly calcifying remains of the basilisk before her. Death stole the colour from its scales, turning them a chalky white. Already, its poisonous gaze had clouded over. Hogwart’s was safe once more.

 

Hazel crossed the room to the first carved snake head of the row that led out to the Second Floor and crashed to her knees. The snake had had been crushed by the thrashing basilisk and at the foot of the base lay Viper, his body broken and bleeding, the light growing faint in his eyes.

 

Hazel didn’t cry, though she certainly felt as though she could. For three months had Viper accompanied her around Hogwarts, making friends with the elves and discovering the secret passages that Slytherin had left for his descendants to find.  

 

Distracted by her grief, Hazel missed the figure of a redheaded girl entering the chamber - but she did not miss the girl’s scream of utter rage and then her subsequent collapse.

 

From the pages of a diary, rose a white light that coalesced into the form of a sixth year Slytherin boy. He was handsome, Hazel supposed, though she wasn’t sure why she would classify him that way. Though certainly his high cheekbones, grey eyes, and neatly combed brown hair made for a handsome figure. 

 

Dismissing the thought as irrelevant, Hazel summoned the diary to her, knowing the stink of black magic when she felt it, and this kind felt more familiar than most. Hazel’s stints in the library had not been without exploration into the restricted section; after all, she was light-fingered around those who had _special dispensation_ slips in their possession. 

 

Watching the boy stalk around the chamber with a furious expression on his face, Hazel slowly got to her feet, gripping the diary tightly. “Who are you?” She called out, her green eyes furious. 

 

The boy spun around, his grey eyes meeting hers and his lip curled. “Who are you?” He demanded, “did you do this?”

 

Hazel ignored his question, edging around to the mouth of the basilisk. Her reading on basilisks had led her to a passage on the snake’s venom being the most potent in the world and uniquely suited to banishing magical enchantments. Oddly, the basilisks venom was wholly useless against muggles - though its gaze certainly wasn’t - as they possessed no magic of their own. It was this magical banishment that made them so toxic to magical humans; after all, no magical human could withstand the trauma of their magic being stripped away. Magic was quite literally their everything. 

 

Basilisk venom was able to strip a witch or wizard of their magic; it would be more than capable of removing whatever _little_ enchantment that ensnared the diary in her hands.

 

“I asked first,” Hazel said determinedly.

 

The boy’s gaze tracked her both enraged and curious. “Tom Riddle, I was a student here fifty years ago,” he told her eventually.

 

“The Chamber was opened fifty years ago,” Hazel told him, “did you have something to do with that?”

 

The boy smirked in delight, “Ravenclaw’s, always so _clever_ ,” he murmured.

 

“You’re standing in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets,” Hazel told him waspishly, “and you appeared from a magical diary. Not to mention the events of fifty years ago have been repeating themselves all year. It’s not exactly rocket science,” Hazel said dismissively.

 

At the mention of the diary, Tom whipped around again, his expression wild with sudden fear. “Where is it?” He howled, “Where is my diary?”

 

Hazel held it up and smirked, “I have it,” she told him, “and something tells me that you’re the reason why that first year isn’t waking up and why all those petrifications happened.”

 

Tom stilled, “you’re a clever one, aren’t you?” He considered her further, “even for a Ravenclaw. What did you say your name was again?”

 

Hazel crouched at the mouth of the basilisk, holding the diary tightly in her hands. “I didn’t,” she told him firmly, “and it’s time for you to go now.”

 

Tom jolted forwards, “NO!”

 

But it was too late, as Hazel brought the diary down on one of the basilisks fangs, puncturing the diary with a feral grin on her face. Tom Riddle screamed as he died, and Hazel thought he sounded like a dying cat. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, she might have laughed.

 

Dropping the diary at the mouth of the basilisk, Hazel stood up and made her way over to Viper’s broken body. She had missed his passing in the mess with Riddle, short though that had lasted. With a sorrowing sigh, Hazel conjured a wooden box and laid her friend to rest upon a velvet cushion inside it. 

 

Hazel turned to the girl as she stirred. The redhead looked confused and frightened. Knowing just how many questions that would come if she was discovered here, Hazel quickly jogged down the corridor to the entrance of the Chamber.  Staring at the pipe she had slid down earlier, Hazel gritted her teeth as the first year screamed in horror and fear behind her. Admittedly, waking up to the body of an enormous basilisk would be enough to terrify anyone. 

 

 _$Stairs?$_ Hazel hissed hopefully, and was delighted when the stonework of the pipe grated loudly and formed stairs that led upwards towards the second floor.

 

Exiting the bathroom, Hazel noted the flurry of activity on the first floor as the teachers searched for the missing first year, their expressions speaking of desperation and terror. Rolling her eyes, Hazel walked away towards her dorm. None of this was her business and she wanted nothing to do with any of it. 

 

Behind her, clear blue eyes gleamed hungrily as they took in her messy, mud splattered appearance and too-white teeth stretched into a vicious grin.

 

Hazel never did see the jet of red light that sent her into unconsciousness; but she did notice that she woke up in her defence teachers office. Somewhere she had never allowed herself to be brought. Across from her, seated in a wooden chair, was Gilderoy Lockheart dressed in periwinkle robes and smiling just a little too widely to be truly comforting.

 

“Miss Potter,” Lockheart crooned gently, edging closer to the frightened second year, “where have you been?”

 

Narrowing her eyes, Hazel kept silent and tried to lean away from the defence Professor. 

 

Tsking, Lockheart drew his wand and twirled it in his hands, “come now, m’dear, we both know you’ve been down in the Chamber of Secrets. All you need to do is tell me all about it and what happened down there, and I’ll make all those traumatic memories go away…”

 

Hazel’s eyes widened behind her glasses in realisation. “You didn’t do any of those things in your books!” She stared at the man agape, “you stole those memories from other people!”

 

“My dear girl,” Lockheart scoffed, “no one would have believed me if I’d actually done any of it!”

 

Hazel set her jaw stubbornly and glared at the man before her. “You’re a coward,” she told him; “you’re worse than Malfoy!”

 

Lockheart’s eyes flashed, “I could tell you things about the Malfoy family that would curl your hair, girl!” His eyes flicked over her head, “well, worse than it already is,” he said disparagingly.

 

Hazel lifted her chin and strained against her restraints. She could feel her wand in her pocket beside the wooden box that held Viper’s body. She just wanted to leave. 

 

Lockheart leaned closer to her, his hands resting on her knees and his fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs almost gently. “Miss Potter… Hazel, sweetheart, tell me,” his breath, minty and sweet, wafted over her face and Hazel felt pure terror shoot through her. She did not want this. She did not like Lockheart. 

 

Her magic reacted and Lockheart was sent careening backwards into the wall. Unfortunately the force didn’t knock the older wizard out and Hazel watched in horror as the bleeding man stood up with an utterly furious expression on his face. 

 

“You,” he breathed heavily, his hair and robes dishevelled, “should not have done that,” he told her. Striding forwards, Lockheart struck Hazel across her face and she cried out as pain radiated across her cheek. “Tell me!”

 

Hazel screwed up her courage and spat in Lockheart’s face, feeling dark delight bloom in her chest as the gob of her saliva trailed wetly down her Professor’s forehead and nose. “You disgust me,” she told him severely, too proud to concede but also knowing that things were about to get a whole lot worse for.

 

“I disgust you?” Lockheart snarled, forgetting that she was a twelve year old girl, “you are more famous than I am and you use none of it! You could be a god, but instead you crawl on your belly like a dog. I disgust you? You disgust me, Hazel Potter, you do not deserve your celebrity.”

 

Rage ripped through Hazel and she bared her teeth at him, “fuck off,” she hissed, repeating the words that she had heard the rougher members of London’s streets say towards anyone they hated. 

 

Lockheart’s hand whipped across her face again and the smack rang out sharply in the quiet room. “Be silent!” He snarled, “you’re clearly not going to tell me anything.” Lockheart paced the room in fury, “but you now know everything. I think it’s time for your memory to take a holiday, Miss Potter,” he told her as he drew his wand and pointed it at her head. “We can’t have lies spreading about me, can we?”

 

Hazel felt her anger evaporate to leave cold terror in its place. “No,” she whispered in fear, “NO!” Hazel struggled against her binds and kicked her feet out, toppling the chair backwards just in time for the jet of blue light to pass harmlessly above her head. Flat on her back, Hazel tugged at her wrist bindings futilely before inspiration struck her.

 

“TODDY!” Hazel howled at the top of her lungs, “I need you!”

 

With a piercing crack, the little House Elf arrived beside her and snapped his fingers, freeing the girl from her binds. Turning on Lockheart, Toddy bared too-sharp teeth in a cold smile, “you shall not harm Hazel Potter,” he told the defence Professor, and with a wave of his hand, Toddy banished the man to the middle of Courtroom 4 where he was chained to wait the full Wizengamot by the chair in the centre of the room. 

 

“Is Missy alright?” Toddy asked anxiously as Hazel rubbed at her bruised wrists.

 

“Oh, Toddy!” Hazel breathed, pulling her friend into a tight hug, “thank you so much! You saved me!”

 

Toddy turned bright green as he blushed from the tips of his pointed ears to the tips of his round, little toes.

 

“Always, Miss Potter.”


	11. Chapter 11

The appearance of Ginny Weasley, the missing First Year student, in the Great Hall at breakfast the next day had tongues wagging even as the teachers flocked to her side and all but dragged the girl to the Hospital Wing. Naturally, the events of the Chamber of Secrets, those that the female Weasley knew of, were a complete and utter secret; and so, naturally, the whole school knew about it. Absolutely no one could work out what happened to the basilisk or how the girl had survived; but what people did know, was the she had been possessed by the Dark Lord that Hazel had defeated almost twelve years ago; and that terrified everyone.

 

The Dark Lord was supposed to be dead. Albus Dumbledore, Greatest Wizard of the Age, and the Ministry of Magic had told  _everyone_ that the Dark Lord Voldemort was dead. Albus Dumbledore had spoken the evil creatures name during the press conference on the 1st of November and nothing had happened. Magical Britain was supposed to be  _safe_. 

 

But the Weasley Girl had been possessed and dead wizards don't go around possessing little girls; particularly not those under the protection of the Great and Powerful Albus Dumbledore. That the Weasley Girl had been... was terrifying. Already, not three days after the events being detailed to the  _Daily Prophet_ by numerous student's, - which was corroboration enough for the mostly-gossip rag - there were calls being placed for the funding of Aurors and Hit Wizards to be increased. Once retired veterans of the British Magical Police-force were returning to active duty. The magical populace was scared and Magical Minister Fudge was having trouble corralling the populace into anything other than a panic-stricken mob. 

 

The break of the school semester was preceded by the cancelling of exams, much to Granger’s disapproval - despite the girl only just having been released from her petrified coma; and Hazel had rolled her eyes so hard at that she’d strained her ocular muscles. Although, even Malfoy had looked outraged by the news, but then, the pureblood Slytherin had been boasting for weeks prior to the Weasley Girl's rescue that he would "beat Potter and Granger to first ranking in their year". Hazel had sighed in exasperation. She was surrounded by idiots...

 

Thus, the holidays started with Hazel crossing the road from King’s Cross station over to Saint Pancras, where she slipped aboard a train to Paris and grinned her whole way under the channel. It was a delight to leave the country and an even greater delight to slip on a mask and be  _invisible_.

 

France was nothing like England or Scotland; and Hazel gleefully walked the Parisian streets with nothing but a backpack to her name. But Hazel had a purpose in her travelling and slowly and steadily the girl made her way East. Catching trains and buses as she made her way towards India. In her pocket, Viper’s body weighed heavy and painful against her leg. She owned the snake a proper burial and the English soil with it’s misty mornings and cold rain didn’t suit the brave snake of Indian heritage. No, Hazel was bound and determined to respect her friend, and she would accept nothing less than the best for him.

 

If France had been different to England, then India was alien. People crammed the city streets and Hazel was hard pressed to make her way anywhere without bumping into someone. Had she been the dark haired, green eyed, pale skinned child that Magical England knew her as, Hazel would have stood out like a sore thumb. Instead, Hazel wore one of her better shape-shifting disguises. 

 

Long brown hair and liquid dark eyes set in a dark skinned face, Hazel looked as much like a local as she could; and dressed in vibrant colours, Hazel was able to slip through any crowded market place without drawing attention to herself. Her goal was a city called Amritsar, which bordered Pakistan, to the west of India. It was here that she would lay to rest the body of her dearly departed friend. 

 

Viper had spoken of these lands to her, during their long midnight strolls through the castle. He had told her of the heat, of the people, of the smells. Viper had loved this land and had known it better than the back of his tail. It was here that he would be returned in death. It was the least she could do for him, Hazel owed the snake much; not the least of which was because he had been a friend. 

 

Hazel stood above his small grave beneath a giant, leafy tree and mourned for him, her heart heavy with sorrow. Viper, though she hadn’t known him long, had been important to her and his death had been both unkind and far too soon. Sighing heavily, Hazel turned her face North and walked along the dusty game trail back towards the village. She would spend a few more weeks here and then make her way back home. Already it was mid June and the heat was stifling. 

 

The winding travels back West along the continent took twice as long as the way East had; but then, Hazel actually took her time and visited places around her. She didn’t just blow her way through like a tempestuous storm. Mostly, she listened to the people. Avoiding the high traffic areas populated by tourists and changing her shape just often enough that she had to write the new features down, Hazel absorbed _everything_. Never had she this much fun before. Nor had she learnt so much, not just by reading and buying books in dozens of languages using duplicated muggle money - because not even the Potter accounts could keep up with her voracious appetite for knowledge; but also by listening to the people around her with her mind. Oh but the speed of that kind of learning. Delving into muggle brains and just.. taking everything that was interesting. Stealing. Thieving. Hazel revelled in it all. 

 

Hazel’s return to France in late August was mostly uneventful. For days now she’d been experiencing a minor headache just beneath where her scar would ordinarily reside. It throbbed, heavy and angry and hot to the touch. She needed to return to England. Something was going wrong there. Also, September First was fast approaching and there was no telling what would happen if she failed to arrive at Hogwart’s on time. Already Dumbledore had expressed an unhealthy desire for her attention and her presence; it would not do well to pique his interest any further.

 

The Leaky Cauldron, when she arrived not three days before term began, was a kicked over hornets nest. Ordinarily, the rowdy pub was mainly populated by returning students and their families buying the next years school supplies; this year it was also plagued by the presence of red-robed Aurors. Hazel cocked her head to the side and stared at them as they moved from wall to wall and pasted up large WANTED signs.

 

The mass murderer, Sirius Black, had apparently escaped Azkaban prison.

 

As she looked over the _Daily_ _Prophet_ newspaper that had been left on the table near to the back of the room, Hazel almost missed in the right, bottom hand corner of the third page spread that was dedicated to the continuation of Black’s escape on the front page, was a tiny obituary to her First year defence against the Dark arts professor - Quirinus Quirrell. 

 

There was very little information. Mostly it was just about Quirrell’s loved ones left behind: a mother and a brother; and a plea for any information about what happened to him. Quirrell had been murdered, although no one knew how or why - and that had the Auror’s concerned, because with Sirius Black’s escape, the Ministry was beginning to wonder if the War was restarting. With Black as the banner-man for the Death Eaters. 

 

Hazel sat in her rented room at the Leaky and pondered everything she knew. The throbbing of her scar was a dead give-away that something was dreadfully, terribly wrong; but Black’s escape? Quirrell’s murder? There was a connection here and one she didn’t have enough information about to truly understand what what going on. Hazel _hated_ guesswork. 

 

September First arrived on the wings of horrendously cold Arctic winds that spoke of a hard winter ahead. Had Hazel been a little more superstitious, she might have called it a portent of what was to come. As it was, the muggle newspapers were crowing about Mars being unnaturally clear in the night sky and how normally pollution was just too bad for any of the neighbouring planets to be see with ease. Hazel would have been an idiot to miss that portent and not for the first time did she wonder if she perhaps should have signed up for Divination, instead of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. 

 

At the end of the first week and having listened to the Divination students either complain or gush over the Divination professor, Trelawny, Hazel knew she’d made the right decision. Apparently the many times great-granddaughter of Cassandra, was utterly useless at her profession. Hazel grimaced in disappointment and went back to her usual standard - perusing the stacks of Hogwart’s library for information. After all, you either had the talent or you didn’t. It’s not like divination could truly be taught.

 

The month of September rolled into October and with it, the chill winds alleviated as the last remnants of Summer returned to mock the student body with gloriously blissful days of sun and warmth and days spent sprawled beneath the great beech trees down by the lake. Hazel watched her peers curiously, wondering why so many of them were daring to brave the frigid waters of the black lake in very little attire. It made no sense to her. 

 

Scattered around her were dozens of volumes on runes and the magical version of mathematics. As with all things she applied herself in, Hazel excelled unnaturally in both fields. Already she was outstripping the Gryffindor swot, despite the other girl apparently being of genius intellect. In truth, had Hazel not been so driven and determined to be the best, she might have gotten along with Granger exceptionally well - even to the point of calling her a friend; but Hazel didn’t really reflect on these things, preferring instead to concentrate on the current time and place where she was. Hazel had no use for what if’s and if only’s.  

 

As with previous years, Hallowe’en turned out to be a disaster, with Gryffindor house being attacked by the escaped mass murderer, Sirius Black. The ministerial demons, the Dementors, had all but pressed their skeletal bodies against the glass of the windows in their hunger and rage. Hazel watched the panes freeze over and everyone’s breath turn to mist as the demons raged just beyond the reach of the school children. 

 

All around her, Hazel heard speculation and postulation about Black’s motives; but one student’s comment caught her attention, freezing Hazel in place.

 

_“Isn’t Black supposed to be after Potter? Doesn’t he know she’s a Ravenclaw? What was he doing in Gryffindor?”_

 

Yes, Hazel wondered, what had Black been doing, attacking Gryffindor like that? Unless… she thought with increasing incredulity, Black didn’t want her and he wanted something else. Sharp green eyes turned on the clustered Gryffindor students on the other side of the Great Hall. Not one looked like a threat, but the House was hiding something. Something that Black wanted. Something that Black _needed_. 

 

And Hazel Potter was going to get it first.


	12. Chapter 12

Getting into Gryffindor Tower turned out to be something of a challenge for Hazel. It was heavily warded and it’s students were proud of their House. Black wanted into the Gryffindor tower and Hazel was feeling bitter enough to delight in preventing the escapee’s triumph… 

 

Not that Hazel had any idea as to what the escaped mass murderer wanted; it was enough to steal anything that looked valuable enough that Black might want it. Call Hazel petty, but she was also determined enough to succeed; and in this, she felt had no option but to succeed. Far be it to her to allow the supposed betrayer of her parents even a sliver of happiness. 

 

Azkaban was too good for one such as him.

 

Still, November had bled into December before she had even a sense of how to gain access to the Tower of Lions; and it was quite by accident too. 

 

Neville Longbottom, third year Gryffindor, was apparently well known for losing near enough everything he owned. Equally, the boy was also well known for hovering outside the Portrait of the Fat Lady, and later her replacement - Sir Cadogan, and waiting for someone to let him in; and Hazel knew this because she had watched the boy for the past two weeks hang around looking desperately alone and confused with literally every student from every year greeting the boy with a knowing smile and a “Hey Neville, locked out again?”

 

It was almost too easy for her.

 

It took some practice, true, but Hazel was more than able to morph her features from sharp angles to rounded edges. Her eyes bled from green to light brown and her hair was fine and fell in a neat mop on her head. Neville was broader and thicker than she was, but then, he was also a boy who had never really wondered where his next meal was coming from. Even his personality, that of a nervous, worry-wart, was of no difficulty to emulate. Hazel had no doubt that if there ever came a chance for her to become a Hollywood actress, she would be beyond amazing - if she did say so herself.

 

The hardest part was finding robes that fit her in the right colours and of course, confounding Neville so he didn’t interrupt her heist. Hazel almost felt bad as she shot the sickly yellow spell at the bumbling Gryffindor and sent him staggering off into the Forbidden Forest. With any luck, he wouldn’t be eaten, but then, he might be distracted by the strange wildflowers that grew on the southern edge, where the forest met the lake. Hazel wasn’t much sure nor did she really care; she had a heist to pull.

 

In between her time spent observing Gryffindor tower and its occupants, Hazel had come to know the ebb and flow of humanity that resided inside. Interestingly, Thursday afternoons were busiest, while Monday mornings were quietest. Thus, it was on a Tuesday, when there was constant traffic in and out but also very few people hanging around, that Hazel struck.

 

Hazel-as-Neville loitered out the front of the Tower, Sir Cadogan chattering away about how he couldn’t just let Neville in, he was so sorry but he had _a duty, my dear boy_ ; and Hazel kind of wanted to permanently burn the portraits mouth off with the tip of her wand. It didn’t take long until someone, a second year?, approached and with a cheerful smile, let Hazel-as-Neville into the Gryffindor’s sanctum. Thanking the boy with all the fumbling grace of the shy Gryffindor she was pretending to be, Hazel stumbled over to a nearby couch and sank into its cushioned depths. 

 

Hazel had a book on Herbology perched across her knees as she keenly, but carefully, observed the comings and goings of the Gryffindor Common room. It bustled in a way that the Ravenclaw common room didn’t and it seemed warmer, with its bright hues of red and gold and dark timber woods. Hazel noted that the boys came through a door to the right hand side of the common room and the girls from the left. Absolutely no boy entered or exited from the girls side, but more than one girl slipped up into the boys side - often with cheeky grins on their faces. Although a band of three girls, fifth years, came down from the boys dorms looking savagely pleased with themselves. Hazel thought she could hear the groans and moans of wounded males, but she couldn’t be sure.

 

“Alright, Nev?” One of the girls asked, she had long brown hair and dark eyes and was looking at the younger ‘Gryffindor’ with concern.

 

Hazel jerked her chin up, eyes wide in an approximation of how Neville acted. “Ye-yes,” she stammered to the best of her ability, “you?” And she couldn’t help but internally wince at how awkward she sounded.

 

The girl smiled easily, “yeah, I’m good. Transfiguration,” she said by the way of an explanation as she tugged at her book bag strap. 

 

One of her companions, blonde hair and hazel eyes, smirked, “we’re waiting on Fred and George,” she said, looking distinctly malicious as she glanced at the door to the boys dorms.

 

Hazel got the feeling that the savage pleasure that the three girls were exhibiting had something to do with the notorious Weasley twins. “What did they do?” She asked, curious.

 

The first girl rolled her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder, “they slipped something into Alicia’s drink this morning,” she said in obvious displeasure, “she’s still speaking in rhymes.”

 

Hazel glanced at “Alicia” noting that the girl was keeping a dignified silence in the wake of the enchantment placed upon her. “Madam Pomfrey couldn’t fix it?” 

 

The second girl shook her head, blonde hair shimmering in the firelight. “No, worst luck,” she grumbled, “those boys might just find themselves at the wrong end of a Quaffle if they don’t shape up.”

 

The clatter of shoes on stone heralded the arrival of the Weasley twins, both boys flinching violently away from their year mates as their hands drifted to the front of the pants almost protectively. Somehow, Hazel got the feeling that the twin’s had been… appropriately punished by the three Gryffindor girls.

 

“Bye, Neville,” the blonde girl called over her shoulder as she and her friends guided the Weasley twins out of the common room with the intent to hex them if they weren’t polite. “Enjoy herbology!”

 

Hazel waved them off and settled back in her chair, wondering what to do now. She was in Gryffindor Tower, except now she had no clue to go about finding what an escaped convict wanted. Hazel got to her feet, deciding to search the dorm rooms as a start. 

 

The first and second year boys dorms were quiet and empty. Clothes and shoes and personal affects were strewn across the stone floor and they… smelt, for the lack of a better word. It was clear that the boys knew nothing about airing rooms out or about cleaning up after themselves. Curling her lip, Hazel nearly died at the sight of the third year’s room. 

 

If the first and second years dorms looked like a bomb had gone off, it was nothing to the third years. Clothes hung from the rafters. Pillows were exploded and heaped into corners. What looked like a set of dirty socks and jocks had been balled up and shoved in the corner of showers in the room adjacent.  Trying not to vomit, Hazel picked her way through the room, only coming across an old, scabby looking rat.

 

A rat, that on seeing her, attacked her. 

 

Yelping, Hazel reacted instinctively, shooting a stunning spell designed for non-magical animals, not exactly wanting to stop the rats heart. The spell did nothing. Hazel snarled as inch long teeth buried deeply into her wrist and she grabbed the rats tail and flung it to the side, smashing it into a nearby stone wall. 

 

Disgust burned in her chest as the feral creature slid down the wall and lay in a stunned heap on the floor. Something about that rat wasn’t right, she thought, eyeing it in silent fury. Hazel approached the rat carefully, prodding it with the tip of her wand. Nothing happened, it was out cold. Hazel conjured a small stone container with a lid that slid into place on little runners and placed the rat inside. She sincerely doubted that anyone would miss such a feral creature.

 

Glaring around the third year boys dorm once more, Hazel exited the room feeling filthy and gross. Turning upwards again, Hazel made her way into the fourth years dorm. Despite being cleaner than the dorms beforehand, there was equally nothing to be found inside.

 

The fifth year dorms on the other hand… were completely different.

 

They were cleaner, better organised... and completely filled with potions ingredients and joke shop merchandise. Which, considering this was the Weasley Twin's dorm, that made a great deal of sense. Hazel searched the room quickly and quietly, trying not to disturb anything. There was a lot of  _stuff_ to sort through, because while the boys were relatively organised, it was clear that it was to a system of their own devising. 

 

It was on the second bedside table in the third draw that she found  _IT_.

 

It was a piece of mouldy old parchment that she wouldn't have looked twice at... except... it utterly  _reeked_ of magic and enchantments. Hazel stared at the piece of parchment that had been folded up until it was the size of the palm of her hand. Hazel considered the parchment carefully, wondering what it was before pocketing it and staring at the doorway in fear. 

 

That was Neville Longbottom’s voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one. Hope everyone's enjoying their time off.
> 
> Enjoy the cliffy. ;)


	13. Chapter 13

Hazel was staring around the fifth year boys dormitory in panic when her eyes alighted on a broomstick mostly hidden under one of the four poster beds. First year flying lessons seem so far away and Hazel had, admittedly, not tried her hardest at them. Still… if she didn’t want to be caught…

 

There wasn’t much of a choice really. Hazel grabs the broom and jumps up onto the ledge of the window. Theres an enchantment that stops people from falling or even jumping; but as she straddles the broom, Hazel finds herself lifting and spiralling upwards. 

 

Hazel grins.

 

Flying lessons were nothing like this. The ground drops below her feet until she can barely make out the tree tops of the Forbidden Forest far, far below. She hovers just above the window, awed at everything she can see; and then, as the doorway to the Gryffindor fifth years dormitory opens…

 

Hazel drops…

 

In a screaming blur, the castle rushes past until all she can see is a whirlwind of blue, greys, whites, and greens dashing past. Then, twenty feet from the ground near the whomping willow, Hazel brings her feet up onto the broomstick shaft and pushes down with all her might even as she pulls the handle upwards.

 

The broomstick judders in her hold as the enchantments slip and slide at the demand of her magic. Hazel evens out and allows for her mask to fall and her Potter features to return. A brush of a hand against her wand up her sleeve has the Gryffindor robes Switching with the robes on her bed. 

 

Hazel Potter, Ravenclaw isolationist, has returned. 

 

Of course, the sight of Hazel Potter dropping off the Hogwarts roof on a broomstick had to be reported by at least fifty people - both to their friends and the professors; which was how Hazel found herself in front of Roger Davis, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, and Filius Flitwick, the Ravenclaw Head of House.

 

“But I don’t want to be on the quidditch team,” Hazel complained, despite knowing that Cho Chang would never have survived a five hundred foot dive to the ground and come out with nary a scratch on a stolen Cleansweep Five - not that anyone knew the broom had been stolen, Yippy, a house elf, had been more than happy to return it before anyone noticed that it had been gone.

 

“What do you mean you don’t want to play?!” Davis cried in outrage, “that’s barbaric! Heresy!”

 

Flitwick’s moustache twitched as the man tried to hide a smile at Hazel’s confusion and Davis’ fury. “Perhaps, Miss Potter can attend a team practice,” he suggested with all the tone of a teacher trying to keep the peace, “and see how work out.”

 

Hazel cocked an eyebrow, “I’m not a team player, Professor Flitwick,” she said in bare honesty, “I prefer to work alone.”

 

Davis gave a groaning shout, “you’ll be the seeker! You don’t have to play as a team!”

 

Hazel stared at the sixth year in utter bewilderment. This was why Ravenclaw never won the House Championship, she was sure of it. Only an idiot would consider the seventh member of a _team_ as not actually being part of the team. “Fine,” she said flatly, “but I won’t like it.”

 

Davis only rolled his eyes.

 

Hazel was right. She didn’t like it. Chang was a bitch who only saw Hazel as trying to muscle her way onto the team as a way of snubbing the older girl - how, Hazel had no idea, she had more talent in her pinkie than this girl had in her entire body, but hey, she wasn’t on the team, Chang was. 

 

Ravenclaw was a house filled with studious natured people. That didn’t always marry well with a sport that was violent and bloody. That said, Hazel, who enjoyed living life on the edge and who saw things as a challenge to be conquered more than anything else, felt particularly at home on the Quidditch pitch. 

 

That said, she still declined a position on the team citing that Chang had earned her spot during tryouts; it just wouldn’t be fair to take it from her.

 

In all honesty, Hazel just hated the people on the team. 

 


	14. Chapter 14

January rolled around to the sound of snow pattering softly against the window panes. Hazel sat at a desk on the seventh floor not far from the Ravenclaw common room and prodded at the piece of parchment she had ‘liberated’ from the Gryffindor common room. She was still confused at to what the parchment was.

Beside her, the rat scrabbled in a clear plastic, unbreakable cage. There was something deeply satisfying about watching the creature scrabble at the walls and squeak in obvious fear whenever she turned her bright green eyes on it. It was an ugly beast, with shabby grey fur, beady black eyes that looked almost watery somehow, and a long, scaly whip-like tail that… looked scabrous. It was utterly detestable.

Hazel had cast revealing spell after revealing spell on the rat, but nothing yet explained the creatures’ ability to shake off a stunner designed for animals. Anything stronger than a stunner minimalis would more often than not stop the creatures heart - unless they were a dragon or nundu, you needed a team of at least ten magicals to bring down a dragon or a nundu. 

The parchment was making life difficult too. Thus far it resisted all attempts to unpick its enchantments and Hazel was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t voice activated. Green eyes considered the artefact carefully, that.. actually wasn’t a bad idea. Hazel twirled her wand before resting the tip directly in the centre of the parchment.

“My name is Hazel Potter,” she told the parchment calmly and watched in pleasure and surprise as curving black lines spiralled across the parchments surface and solidified into words.

Greetings, Miss Hazel Potter; Messr’s Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs would like to know how you came to possess this map?

Hazel’s lips curved in amusement, “quite the clever little parlour trick you have there. Limited enchantment based on voice and magic recognition,” she murmured as she tapped at the parchment again, getting a feel for the latticework of spells that had brought the parchment to life. 

The parchment shuddered before new words looped across the page, Clever trick, Miss Potter? We think not, for this here is a parchment filled with unspeakable worth, a treasure trove for the Marauding student and prospective trouble-maker. 

Hazel couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, but you are clever, aren’t you?” She breathed in delight, watching the spells spark and shimmer across the parchment. “You’re tied to, what?, bloodlines?” She mused as she prodded the parchment again, revelling in the challenge the parchment was giving her. “You must be.. but that would mean…”

Seems like Prongs’ daughter has more brains than he does, commented the parchment in a slightly different hand to the first two. It was spikier and more fluid at the same time. The hand of someone who was well used to writing with quills and inks and yet had no care for making their letters neatly and properly.

“Prongs’ daughter?” Hazel wondered, “did Dad have a nickname at school?” With a sudden sense of longing, Hazel ran her fingers along the writing with hungry eyes, “James Potter, is that you?”

Oh ho, I gave this to you as a test, did I? It sounds like something I would do. Well, Daughter of Prongs, my baby girl, welcome, to the Marauder’s Map!

The parchment flowered ink under her fingers and Hazel’s mouth dropped open in shock as the parchment filled out into a… map. This, she breathed internally, this is what Sirius Black had wanted. A map. How else better than to kill and ravage and sneak around than a map that… oh Merlin, it tracked people. It showed their footsteps, their position, their name. This in the hands of the wrong person was a weapon. Hazel despaired momentarily, until she firmed her spine. Sirius Black would not be getting this map fromHazel Potter. Oh no, her parents betrayer would be consigned to death on her watch with no aid from idiotic Gryffindor’s who left valuable and dangerous maps around for anyone to find.

Setting her jaw and narrowing her eyes, Hazel folded the map up and tucked it into her belt pouch - something she had enchanted in class under the strict gaze of Professor Babbling, the ancient runes professor. It was worth half her credit for the year and was only meant to be stitched with featherlight enchantments, except Hazel was an overachiever who had found a way to embroider anti-theft and space expansion charms into the seam of the bag as well. It was coded to her living DNA, which meant that it was inaccessible to anyone bar her. 

It was into this bag that the Marauder’s Map went into as well as the plastic cage that held the balding rat. There was no place safer. That the lip of the bag also had been enchanted as a portable stasis charm meant that food wouldn’t go off, no matter how long it stayed there. Which had been the original purpose of the bag. As a food storage unit. Now it would hold a rat in stasis until she was able to work out just what the creature was; because it was obvious that the rat was no ordinary rat. 

As Hazel searched for her answers, January whiled away into February and then into March, bringing with it warmer days and soaking rain. Hazel was beginning to become frustrated with the task she had set herself. 

Once again in February, Black had broken into the Gryffindor dorms, this time attacking a student; but aside from a spooked student, another Weasley, and a missing rat, the Gryffindor’s insisted that nothing had been taken. The news had made Hazel smile grimly and run a wary finger along the very small bag at her belt. She was glad to have thwarted the mass murderer in his scheme to obtain the map, but that hadn’t stopped her from being watchful and wary. 

By the time March was bleeding into April, Hazel was bogged down in exams that seemed over the top but were probably making up for the missed exams from the year before as well. Black hadn’t attacked the school again and the Dementor’s were becoming restless. Hazel had overheard the seventh year Hufflepuff prefects discussing how the foul creatures were starving. 

It was this that had Hazel ripping through books once more, this time however, she was looking for a way to repel dementors. If Black attacked the school again, Hazel seriously doubted that the Headmaster could stymie the dementors wrath and hunger. 

Naturally, the patronus charm had to be the most complicated light spell every incanted. Hazel buckled beneath the stress of her exams, her attempts to create a corporeal patronus, and find out exactly what was wrong with the rat in her possession. 

It was quite by accident that Hazel found out the answer to the latter.

In celebration of the third year students completing their end of year exams by mid-may, Professor McGonagall and Professor Lupin had gotten together and created a double transfiguration/defence session, that lasted for four periods on a Wednesday, on how to find, recognise and defend against Animaguses. Hazel stared in shock as for the second time in her life she watched Professor McGonagall transform into a small tabby cat with square markings around her eyes while Professor Lupin lectured on how to spot the unnaturalness of a wizard or witch in animal form. 

Then the discussion on how the spell, Homenum Revelio, that worked on disguises and invisibility cloaks but not animaguses, because magic read the animagus as an animal. The only way to detect a witch or wizard as an animagus was to check for a magical core - which would be disproportionate to the size of the creature. Hazel reeled at the knowledge, her fist tight around the bag that hung from her belt and it was all she could do to not race out of the room to see if the rat was a wizard; and even if it was, what was she going to do? She’d had the rat in her possession for months now. She’d have to figure out a way for the creature to be found out by the proper authorities. 

Hazel left the lesson with her eyes clouded in thought and behind her, the two professors watched her go in confusion and worry. Hazel’s reaction had hardly been innocent, after all. Innocent people do not blanch in fear and realisation. Something was wrong with the Girl-Who-Lived.


End file.
